


Red Sky At Night

by Excuseyouclarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/M, Not Pirate Accurate Either, Temporary Amnesia, Violence, mentions of depression, not historically accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25902883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Excuseyouclarke/pseuds/Excuseyouclarke
Summary: With a ship drowning in sorrows and a reputation that haunts her, Clarke commands fear across the Sea she sails. Whispers follow her across land and second glances for a bounty on her head for a power she does not possess.When she finds a washed up sailor in a crumbling old boat with no memories, she gives him the same opportunity she gives everyone else - you stay until you give her a reason to throw you overboard.With rumours in taverns and passing pirates about Bellamy Blake, an infamous pirate who took down a British Naval ship and left his men for dead, she can only wonder - could this be the man they tell horror stories about?
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 92
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	Red Sky At Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [burninghoneyatdusk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninghoneyatdusk/gifts).



> This work is a Part of the Bellarkefics for BLM initiative, if you haven’t already I fully recommend checking out the tumblr page for the fantastic work that’s going on in the community.

Gulls screech above in the fresh blue sky, white fluffy cloud are just reminiscent memories of the black angry stormy sky that battered them just an hour ago. The rainbows disappeared too, but Clarke doesn’t care much for them anyway. They’re supposed to be a sign that the storms don’t last forever, but still they come back, over and over.

Somewhere Starboard Quarter, Jaspers heaving over the side. Yelling at anyone coming past that he’s not seasick, it was Murphy’s cooking.

“Sure it was.” Shouts Monty from the main deck with a shit eating grin. “That’s why no one else is throwing their guts up.”

There’s a grumble in response from Jasper that Clarke ignores. The ship rocks gently underneath her, while it brings another round of retching from Jasper, it soothes her, brings her peace in a way she’d never felt before she was in the open ocean with a band of misfit thieves and nomads. _Our Lady of Sorrows_ – painted artfully on the side of her stolen ship that was once the Eleanor Rose – was a sanctuary of sorts. Everyone on board was running from something, a dark past they’d rather forget. Clarke never asks when they wake screaming from nightmares, she just comforts them until they go back to sleep.

“Fresh from the Galley” a voice says behind. Raven pushes a bowl of Fish Stew towards her with a tight smile. She takes it gratefully, still staring upwards towards the circling gulls and wonders, are they happy up there?

“What’s the damage?” She says instead and tries not wince at Ravens exasperated sigh.

“It’s bad, but nothing we can’t handle.” Ravens an optimist, at least most of the time anyway. With far too much confidence in her own ability. Its fine until there’s something she can’t figure out, then Clarke considers kicking a hole in the ship and letting them sink to put them all out their misery.

Luckily, it’s never got to that point.

“Good. When Jaspers emptied his stomach tell Murphy to get him some ginger tea and crackers then he can help you. Tell him if I see him with a drop of moonshine before the ships fixed, I’m throwing him overboard.” There’s no humour in the last part. Once upon a time, she’d have tiptoed around Jaspers anger, not rocked boat so to speak, now she doesn’t care about making him angry. He’s not the only person who has lost someone they love, they’re all here because of a shared trauma.

“He’s not going to like that.” Raven muttered with a cautious look over her shoulder. Clarke just shrugs.

“He needs to earn his keep. Making Moonshine and leaving my crew hungover isn’t enough.”

That earns at least a smirk from Raven, and it’s going to raise hell with Jasper, but so be it. Raven walks off towards Jasper with a limp and a badly made brace, it was the best they could do under the circumstances and limited resources. She never moans though, even on the bad days when her eyes are pained and they scramble to find her jobs she can do sitting down, she never complains.

Ravens murmuring reassuringly to Jasper, telling him she’ll take him back inside and get him something to calm his stomach. Clarke wants to snap and tell everyone to stop mollycoddling him, he’s not a child, no one has to stroke his head and say _poor Jasper, lost the girl he loves now he drowns his sorrows in drink and mean quips._

The ships drowning in sorrows, that’s why they’re there.

Amazingly, Jasper helps with minimal complaints, so while the anchors down and the breeze is steady and gentle, she leans her forearms on the wheel and closes her eyes, the sleepless night trying to gain all the control she could while the storm battered on relentlessly was catching up with her now. It would be a while before anything happened, Ravens a perfectionist so whatever damage was done will take at least the day to fix, they were looking at setting sail tomorrow afternoon earliest. Miller was in the crow’s nest, his least favourite place but she tried to make it so they had equal time in there, but for now Miller was on grouchily on look out.

She was just starting to relax for the first time since that damn storm had reared its ugly end two days ago when the sharp ringing of the mayday bell from above jolted her awake in a panic.

“Man overboard Port Bow” Miller shouted, loud enough for the entire ship and any surround ships to hear. She didn’t hear a splash, which meant Raven hadn’t thrown Jasper overboard.

She makes it to the telescope before anyone else and spins it out, searching for the blemish in the calm blue sea. It’s easy enough to spot, a battered up Jolly Boat drifting aimlessly, no oars in sight, just a figure slumped down unmoving.

_Another one to add to the collection._

“Murphy.” She calls, heading towards the Jolly Boat “You’re with me. Monty and Miller lower us down. Everyone else on lookout, if this is a trap we shoot first.”

She doesn’t wait for affirmation, just takes the gun Miller passes her and secures is around her body. The Jolly Boat rocks as Murphy steps in after her, Clarke chews on the skin around her thumb nervously as she looks out towards the drifting boat.

“You think this is a trap?” Murphy asks when they’re low enough to be out of earshot from the rest of the crew. Clarke looks up, surprised at the trepidation in his voice. Murphy’s much like herself, a cockroach in every sense of the words. Many have to tried to kill them, many have met their ends before them.

“I always think it’s a trap.” She replies evenly.

Murphy gives her a lopsided grin “Yeah I bet you do, Wanheda.” There was a time she shied away from the name, repelled it and refuse to acknowledge that she could be someone like that, a commander of death. But now – now she basks in it, watches with glee the fear in men’s eyes as the realisation sinks in that she is the one they tell ghost stories about, scare children with the tales of the pirate who killed her adulterous lover and stole a ship with his childhood sweetheart. Tales of the murderous would be princess scattered around taverns in fishing villages they’d yet to hear of, but they knew _Our Lady of Sorrows_ and the Captain that would kill anyone to save her crew.

He unties the knots and grabs hold of the oars. They’re fighting against the wind down here, but that was alright, because the battered old boat was drifting towards them. The collision was gentle and unremarkable, but still it left a hole in his crumbling boat.

She doesn’t wait for Murphy to help, just grabs the side of the boat and turns it around, without waiting to see if Murphy’s ready she grabs the man under arms and hauls him over with all her strengths.

“Couldn’t wait.” Murphy hisses under his breath as he leans across to take most of the man’s weight. He’s dumped unceremoniously across them, Clarke holds her breath and prays they don’t capsize as they rock violently.

He’s handsome, is Clarkes first though as she cradles his head in her lap. Even with blood caked down his face and his skin weathered she knew he was gorgeous, and she was a sucker for a pretty face.

“ – Clarke, for god’s sake will you listen?” Murphy snapped. Blinking in surprise she looked up, so far in her own head she hadn’t even realised Murphy was speaking.

“What?”

“Your Line.”

She looked around, suddenly at the side of the ship and the line hanging behind her. Turning the best she can she ties her line to the rings and gives the nod to Murphy. They’re heaved up in jolts and uncoordinated pulls, she wants to shout at them to just communicate dammit but its fruitless, she knows they won’t.

Briefly, there’s a flicker of life as the man in her lap eyes flicker open, holding her stare with impossibly deep and dark eyes. She’s about to call to him, ask his name or what happened but he’s gone again, head lolling to the side as the reach the deck.

The sun burns her eyes as it reaches its highest point. Away from the shade of the ship, the heat burns her exposed skin. When they’re level Murphy gives her a nod and with one last look at the unconscious man in her lap and million questions running through her mind, she holds him under his arms while Murphy takes his legs. He seems more of a dead weight than before, but they pass him over with more strength than she thought they could muster and an uncoordinated crew take him. She winces as he drops to the deck, half the crew dropping with him.

Murphy scrambles over the edge of the Jolly Boat before turning to help Clarke over. Although she knows she can do it with more grace than him, she accepts the help nonetheless.

There’s a straggly circle around the unconscious man on the deck, face caked in blood and clothes torn and weathered. There’s a long pause, even the gulls stop screaming to ponder what to do next.

Jasper is – of course – the one to break the silence. “Do you think it’s dead?”

It earns him a punch on the arm from Murphy, hard enough make him stumble and pout.

“He’s alive.” Clarke rolls her eyes at Jaspers inept outburst. “He opened his eyes, so there’s something there.”

“You don’t think he’s – ” Jasper starts, but stops himself before he says the words.

Just days ago, before the heavens opened and wreaked havoc there were whispers among the ships passing of a band of pirates lead by the infamous Bellamy Blake, who took down the largest British naval ship _HMS Rover._ If the rumours were true - and Pirates had been known to over exaggerate – then Bellamy Blakes crew ambushed the naval ship and killed every single man on there.

If what they said was true, the only person left alive was Bellamy Blake himself, and Clarke somehow doubts in the man lying in front of her was _him._ He doubts a man who just left his crew for dead would be drifting between the north and South Pacific Ocean in a crumbling Jolly Boat.

“He’s probably just a washed up drunken sailor.” Clarke assures the worried murmurs, though her hearts pounding more than it has in a long time.

“What do we do if it is him?” Monty asks anxiously, he’s a lover, not a fighter. Though he’s been known to take lives for the greater good, he’s a better man than all of them combined.

“What we do with everybody else, we give him a chance. If he proves to be as bad as his reputation, we throw him overboard.”

There’s almost a sigh of relief, _Wanheda hasn’t lost her touch._

But still, there’s a man lying on the deck with no identity and a gaping head wound.

“What do we do with him?” Miller shoves his shoulder with his boot, Clarke throws him a glare in warning and Miller backs off.

“Put him in Lexa’s old cabin.” She decides, there’s a sharp turning of heads, even Jaspers staring at her in dismay, he’d barely even acknowledged her death, too wound up in his own grief.

“Are you sure?” Ravens tone is calm and gentle, like she’s speaking to an injured animal.

Clarke is not an injured animal, she’s not broken or weak, she’s absolutely fine. “Yes I’m sure. It’s not like she was ever in there anyway.” If Lexa’s ghost was going to be anywhere, it’s wandering the hall to the captain’s quarters.

With a weary look and a shrug Murphy and Miller unceremoniously lift their new lodger and make their way towards the cabins. They leave her be when she sits on the bed with a basin of cool boiled water and clean rags, the bag at her side that had previously been reserved for Jaspers drunken bouts of clumsiness.

She works slowly, methodically wiping the blood from his face. In another life she was training to be a nurse, much to her peers’ disgust. Why be a nurse when she can be a wife?

She shudders at the thought.

When the wounds clean it doesn’t look so ghastly, if the weathers on her side she can stitch it up neat and there will barely be a scar.

Lucky for both of them, the ship stays still and she hums an old lullaby as she stitches. Years of being taught sewing and embroidery as a girl help, now there’s just a thin line above his brow. There’s barely any other marks on him, a couple of bruises but no gunshot or knife wounds, this couldn’t be Bellamy Blake, surely a man who just came from battle would have more than a bang on the head and a couple of scrapes and bruises.

No, he’s not an infamous pirate, he’s just some sailor who’d be washed up dead on shore in a few weeks time.

She feels like she hasn’t slept in a week, yet she can’t seem to pull herself away from the bedside. What was waiting for her in the Captains Quarters anyway? Her ghosts roam free there and plague her dreams. So she sits and hums softly, gently stroking the hair from her face and wonders, _who are you?_

\- - - - - - - 

He’s drifting, both in body and consciousness. There’s an endless blue around him now the sky has stopped screaming.

He’s not sure how he got here, but he is, and that’s all that matters. He has no name to speak of, no destination and no meaning. Life is just drifting aimlessly across this godforsaken ocean, and soon, the elements are sure to get him, if he doesn’t die from dehydration first.

His eyes flutter shut, away from the garish beam of the sun and he hopes he goes quick.

Death does not come how he expects it, if he even had any expectations for it at all. But its loud and uncomfortable, deaths grip is not kind or gentle, it drags him out of his peaceful drifting with a rough shove that aches his bones. When he finally feels himself ascending his dares to look up at the angel cradling his head with a soft smile, thumb running soothingly over his cheek. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve such a welcome to the afterlife, but he’ll take it.

As it turns out, his angel is not a kind one. She hums a sweet tune while piercing his skin and pouring acid onto his open wounds. There’s no peace here, no divine light and no sweet salvation, just pain and sense of falling into the void he’ll never return from.

But slowly, he does. The pain eases and a hand runs through his hair. His angels still humming and he’s ascending from the darkness once again.

“The moon’s past its highest point.” A voice says into the darkness “maybe you should get some sleep.”

“No.” Says a sweet voice, it must be his angel. “I’ll stay until he wakes up.”

“You’ve had no sleep, you should at least – ”

“I said no.”

The door closes with a sigh, and it pulls him out of the darkness. He’s rocking, faintly and delicately, not him as such, the entire worlds rocking around him and he doesn’t quite understand it. The light in the room isn’t much of an improvement, candles illuminating his angel in a dim damp room. She smiles daintily down at him from where she’s perched at the edge of his bed.

“Hello” she hums, eyeing him carefully, perhaps critically but he can’t quite tell. Despite the gloomy light there’s an ethereal glow to her that he’s not sure can be of this world.

“Am I dead?” He croaks, suddenly realising how dry and sore his throat is. He tries to push himself up, but the room spins and a hand on his shoulder pushes him softly down.

“Don’t try and sit, you hit your head pretty bad.” She brings a cup to his lips and he takes it gratefully, though it feels like swallowing glass, tiny shards slicing his throat. But he empties his cup anyway and after she’s taken it away she helps him ease up, slowly, as she keeps telling him. The room spins, but he adjusts.

The world still rocks though, softly like a cradle lulling him to sleep.

“You’re okay” his angel assures him, a hand resting on his shoulder, subtle and calm, it’s reassuring though he’s not sure from what.

“Where am I?” The water did nothing for his throat, he’s still parched and dry.

“North Atlantic Ocean, somewhere between America and Bermuda.” He must give her a pretty blank look, because she grins at him and clarifies “You’re on a Ship, Our Lady of Sorrows. We found you drifting in a battered up jolly boat. Any idea of how you got there?” She looks cautious and maybe a little optimistic, so he feels bad when he shakes his head no. He doesn’t remember –

Anything.

“Do you at least know your name?”

She looks disappointed when he shakes his head again, but it’s no where near the disappointment he feels in himself. He is no one, without name and identity he’s a shell of a man with no purpose. The thought makes him unimaginably distraught, the loss of a life he does not know. He wishes that the woman in front of him was his angel, he wishes she was taking him away from the pain and confusion.

“I’ll let you sleep.” She pats his hand and stands to leave. He wants to ask her to stay, wants to beg for her not to leave him alone in this foreign place, but he can’t find the words. Instead, he calls out to her as she reaches the door.

“What’s your name?” She turns in surprise and smiles prettily.

“Clarke.” She replies before the door creaks shut behind her.

Sleep comes unwelcomely wary, he floats and rocks and almost falls into sweet nothingness, then slams back to consciousness. It’s peaceful, wherever he is, the only noise comes when the sun begins to rise and the sky screeches from far away, but somehow its almost peaceful. The illusion of peace, however, is broken when his door bangs open and a gangly, smirking stranger stands illuminated in an eerie morning light.

A pile of clothes are thrown at him, sprawling over his chest.

“Get up” the man grumbles “I’ve been graced with the job of showing you the ropes.”

He doesn’t really know what that means, but when the door closes he gingerly climbs out of bed. There’s not a single part of him that doesn’t ache or sting, but he dresses in clothes that are slightly too long and tight, but it’s better than the tatters he was left in. The gangly man’s leaning against the wall outside of his room, staring bored down at the floor.

“About time.” He mumbles when he notices him. He pushes off the wall and stalks down the hall. “I thought Clarke would have done this but she shoved it on me instead.”

There’s a certain disdain in his voice when he talks, whether that just who he is or if it’s just a front is yet to be determined.

“Crews quarters are down here, they’re nothing special but you know, somewhere to lay your head. There are two heads down here, we’re lucky Clarke and Raven stole a fancy Ship. The one at the Bow is the men’s, sterns is Women’s.”

He pauses in confusion, stops in his tracks and makes the gangly man turn and sigh at him. “Bow is the front of the ship, stern is the back. The head closest to you room is the men’s. Don’t even bother going near the one at the end of the corridor, Raven is a menace and will cut you.” He gives him a once over, then deflates again. “The heads the toilet, you know – where you piss and shit, Jasper throws his guts up in there when he’s drunk.”

Well, at least something makes sense now.

“When Clarke told you to give him a tour, I don’t think she meant like this.” A blonde girl walks out of one of the chambers, blonde and sunny like Clarke, but she wasn’t Clarke. A dark haired man walks out behind her, sheepishly pulling a cardigan around him.

“Yeah Murphy, hasn’t he been through enough?”

“I’m Harper.” The blonde girl steps forward with a wry smile and her hand stuck out in front of her. It takes him a beat too long to realise he’s supposed to shake it. She’s got an iron grip, for such a small girl. “And this is Monty. We’re not all like Murphy, promise.”

Slowly, there’s faces to names, and he doesn’t feel quite so lost anymore. He realises then that they’re waiting for him to introduce himself.

“I – I’m not really sure who I am.”

Murphy lets out a low whistle. “Clarke was right, you hit your head good.”

“Well what should we call you then?” Harper frowns, he really doesn’t have an answer to that though, he can’t remember a single name apart from the three standing in front of him.

He shrugs awkwardly “I really don’t mind.”

There’s a tense moment of silence, then Murphy shrugs and says “Whatever, if he doesn’t have a name he doesn’t have a name. Let’s get on with the tour if any of you actually want breakfast today.”

Murphy shows him everything down to every last immaculate detail. But there’s a door at the front of the ship he hasn’t mentioned yet, one by the wheel.

“That’s the captain quarters” Murphy tells him when he catches him staring. “We don’t go down there, it’s haunted.”

“Haunted?” he frowns, Murphy quirks an eyebrow.

“Horrendously. You hear all the ghosts of people Clarkes killed screaming when the moon comes out. Nobody goes down there, Clarke barely sleeps there these days.”

So, Clarke was the captain, and a murderous one at that, if Murphy is to be believed. The thought doesn’t scare him as much as it should have. He should be begging to get off the ship, instead he’s calm, he doesn’t react the way Murphy wants him to, he simply stores the information away for a later use. What that is, he does not know.

He’s introduced to a man named Miller, who frowns and grumbles but perks up after a cup of something strong smelling and steaming. Jaspers hungover but still pleasant enough, Raven is apparently a certified genius, and not modest about it either. Everybody seems nice enough though, curious as to what happened to him, and searching for answers but they’ll have to get in line.

Murphy disappears, and he’s at a loss as to what he’s supposed to do now. He wanders around the ship aimlessly, not really sure what he’s doing here. There’s not much to see, Harper climbs up a ladder to a platform way above the rest of the ship, everybody else scatters away and Clarkes still no where to be seen.

He supposed the ship might be grand, with its billowing sails and great looming masts, it’s not something that would be easily missed. There’s something threatening about it, too. It’s not something he would want to see coming towards him. Maybe that’s the design of it, or maybe its them, the crew with their ghost stories and tragedies, there’s an aura to the ship that serves as a warning sign.

There’s a trap door open that he almost falls down, voices drifting up from it.

Stepping carefully down the creaky stairway, he finds Jasper and Raven surrounded by tools and water pooling at their feet.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Raven snaps, not noticing his presence.

“How am I hammering wrong?” Jasper snorts, hammer spinning dangerously in his hand.

“You’re using the wrong end for a start.”

He can’t help it, he huffs out a laugh at the look of dismay of Jaspers face. They both wheel around to look at him, startled by his presence.

“Sorry.” He murmurs “I heard voices and – ” and he was bored and at a loss, but he doesn’t say it.

“No it’s fine” Raven blinks “I just didn’t expect you there is all. I thought you were a – ” she clamps her mouth shut quick, but Jasper grins.

“A ghost. She thought you were a ghost.”

He’s not sure he’s ever seen a ghost, maybe it’s a memory that long lost with the rest of them. He feels like a ghost now though, wandering aimlessly looking a life he’s lost.

“No.” He shrugs “Just me.”

“Well, _just me,_ come grab a tool and make yourself useful.”

Useful. That’s what he was looking for, a purpose. Maybe this isn’t the exactly purpose he was looking for, but its better than wandering around a foreign ship by himself.

Ravens a good teacher, patient and meticulous with her work, she tells him its mostly finished now anyway, they’ll be able to set sail by this afternoon if Clarke says so. Jasper wonders off now that he’s here, Raven rolls her eyes and ignores him, says its not worth the hassle.

Just as they repair the last board, Raven complaining that she’ll have to clean up the water soon, a voice hollers down to them and tells them to come back up.

“Hope you’re ready for the worst porridge you’ve ever eaten.” Raven smirks, she’s got a limp as she walks slowly back up to the deck. He doesn’t comment on it.

“I can’t remember ever eating porridge, I’m not sure I’m the right person to judge.”

They join the rest of the group, sat on hard wooden benches on the deck as the sun slowly rises further into the sky.

As it turns out, he doesn’t need to remember whether he’s eaten it before or not to know that this possibly the worst thing to ever come in a bowl. It’s thick and stodgy, he’s not sure if he’s supposed to chew it or let it slide down his throat. Everybody seems to be having the same reaction though, so he doesn’t feel so bad.

When Clarke finally appears, she takes a bowl and brings her spoon up. Holding it upside down the porridge just sticks and she says, “Who the hell made this?”

“Miller lost a bet to Murphy.” Jasper grins, taking a swig from a flask.

Clarke grimaces into the bowl, tentatively taking a bite then screwing her face up. “Can we make a rule that no one makes bets with Murphy anymore please.”

Miller grumbles into his bowl and it not being that bad, but agrees none the less. The group falls into a quiet chat, but he’s watching Clarke curiously. She sits further away from everybody else, shoulders slumped as she stabs at her porridge with her spoon. He thinks of what Murphy told him, about her quarters being haunted. He’s not sure if he believes in ghosts, but she certainly looks like she has a few.

The ship rocks gently in the breeze and the sun burns his face, its strangely nice. He might say homely if he knew what home was.

“Raven.” Clarke finally says when all the bowls are collected by a disgruntled Miller. “How’s the repairs coming along?”

“All done.” Raven grins “She’s good to go.”

“Fantastic, prepare for docking, we leave at noon.”

There’s a murmur of confusion and thrill, Murphy asks “Where exactly are we docking?”

Clarke looks out towards the horizon, indecision written all over her face. “Virginia.”

\- - - - - - -

Sometimes, she wishes she were sixteen again.

Waiting at the docks for the sailors to arrive, bloody and beaten, drunk and elated. Screaming and shouting in joy at seeing their loved ones once again. She stands and smiles as wind blows through her, hair untameable as the sailors she’s trying to patch up. Their lovers hold their hand as a needle pierces their skin and they promise it doesn’t hurt, they’ve had worse but Clarke can see the wince in their eyes as she tells herself someday, they’ll find something to numb the pain.

Sometimes, she wishes her life was that simple again, floating around a castle in pretty dresses being tutted at by nobles who do not understand her want for the life she’s leading. Her parents smile and tell her she’s doing something good, that not everybody has a heart like hers.

Before her father’s assassination and her mother’s betrayal.

Before her adulterous lover and the girl who came to finally rip her dreams to shreds. Still she steers clear of the west coast, she’s not going back there again.

As she stares ahead at the wheel, she can faintly see the harbour rise in the distance and thinks of the disappointed faces of abandoned lovers waiting for their sweethearts to come home. Instead, _Our Lady of Sorrows_ will appear and the hope turns to horror as they think of the stories they hear of Wanheda and her crew become a reality.

Behind her, Murphy and Harper are teaching their newest how to use the halyard. She’s not sure if he’ll stay once they get onto dry land, but she has to give him a chance. Perhaps he’ll remember something once they get there, when he sees more faces and the hustle and bustle of harbour towns. She hopes for his sake that he does.

There’s shouting behind her. Excitement and annoyance. Murphy doesn’t have to patience to be a teacher, but he volunteered for it so she lets him get on with it. Harpers better at it; she’s kind and almost motherly, a gentle soul that intertwines with Monty in a way she’s never seen before. Sometimes, she thinks if she can have even an ounce of what they have together, she’ll be happy.

But that life isn’t meant for her, her ghosts remind her of that every night.

There’s a ripple of excitement and apprehension as they get closer to the harbour, Miller and Monty have the lines to dock ready, Jaspers clinging to his moonshine like someone on land would want to steal that monstrosity. But the docking is smooth and Monty convinces Jasper to leave behind his precious moonshine and with the promise of fresh supplies they all bounce happily out onto land.

All except _him._ He’s routed to the spot, fear and a quiet alarm in his dark eyes as he looks further into the unknown. She thought perhaps he’d be better on land, but this is just as alien as her ship was to him. He was born from the sea his only memory floating through a storm and her dragging him away from the safety of his only known home on a broken old Jolly Boat.

“It’s alright.” she murmurs to him, he jumps a little when she touches his arm and drags him from his thoughts. “Stick with us, you’ll be fine.”

He nods a little nervously, but follows her anyway. Dusk is falling softly as they step onto land, hard and steady beneath their feet, unchanging with the tide, it’s a reliable constant she doesn’t miss. Despite it being so late in the evening, the streets are still busy, market stools are being packed away and dock hands stare at her in contempt.

Her reputation precedes her.

The crews waiting for them further down the street, they’ve been here before, many times but still they wait for her orders.

“I think a drink or two is well deserved.” Clarke smiles “One that Jasper didn’t make below deck.”

“My moonshine is perfect.” Jasper growls with no real heat.

“To the Tavern” she announces happily and leads the way. As far as her crew know, they’re here to restock and have a break for the night, they don’t need to know she’s got her own agenda here.

Well, two agendas, actually. Both to do with a lost man aboard her ship. She’s desperate for answers, for both him and herself. Mainly though, she needs to know if keeping him aboard will be a danger to her crew.

The safety of her people will always come first. Even if they don’t thank her for it. She doesn’t care, she’s come too far to start caring about what people think of her now, she spent seventeen years being the perfect princess to appease people, now she’s finally free.

The bustle of harbour villages never ceases to soothe her, despite the hisses and glares she attracts, it strangely feels like the home she ran from. The constant chatter that ricochets off the walls of the alley she leads them down.

If he’s anywhere, he’s here.

Silence falls as the tavern door bangs open, piercing eyes burn into her skin but she walks with her head held high and all the confidence of any other pirate in the vicinity. None of her crew take notice anymore, they’re as used to it as she is. _He_ looks uncomfortable, but it’s something he’ll have to get used to if he’s going to stay with them. His face is carefully blank as he looks around, nothing to jog his memory here.

They stare at him too, but they stare at all of her crew, it doesn’t mean much.

She tosses a bag of coins to Murphy and jerks her head towards the bar. The noise picks up as they sit on hard rotting benches around a black stained table, sticky with stale beer and moonshine. Whispers turn in murmurs, _Wanheda_ is thrown around, but she’s a paying customer with as good of a reason to be here as anyone else, so she lets it go over her head until they get bored of staring and Murphy comes back with a tray of drinks they all take it enthusiastically, it’s been a while since they’ve been on dry land with good alcohol and food.

She looks across to watch their nomad, he’s staring down into the stein like it personally offended him and there’s something sadly comically about it. Maybe once he’d have downed it with the rest of them, maybe he stayed away and kept clean. But until he knows for sure, he’s paving a new path out of the dark abyss that was a life he’s lost.

“Drink.” She tells him “The worst it will do is loosen your inhibitions and give you a nasty headache in the morning, I’m sure it’s no worse than what you’ve had already.”

There’s a twinkle in his eyes as he smirks a little, then picks it up and chugs like his life depends on it. There’s no tentative sip, she thinks perhaps he was a pirate. Her thoughts darken, but she pushes it away.

The alcohol loosens them up, it’s not as strong as the moonshine on the ship, so they last longer, laugh louder at stupid jokes and Clarke thinks oh yes, this is her dysfunction band of pirates, this is the family that stay no matter what she does.

Her coins go down as well as the alcohol does, but she’ll make it back or Miller will steal it back, it doesn’t really matter, not anymore. Murphy and Miller are the second round in on an arm wrestling match that will only end in disaster when the cold sharp blade dances along her throat from behind, a voice growls -

_“Wanheda”_

The rowdiness of the table silences, there’s a terror in their nomads eyes and for a moment, cruelly she considers playing it up, but she can’t help the smile on her face. There he is.

“I knew wherever trouble goes you’d follow.”

The blade leaves her neck with a resigned sigh so she spins on her bench. He’s exactly like all the times she remembers him before, hair long and intricately braided underneath, battle scars frame his eyes, the same scars of the people who put a bounty on her head and gave her the name that paves the fear she brings.

“And you are trouble.” There’s almost a sign of a smile, but it’s hard to tell with Roan. He holds out a hand to help her up, despite not needing it she takes it anyway, it’s a gesture of goodwill she can’t turn down from him. “What brings you here, from what I heard you’d not long docked here. It’s not like you to make a double trip.”

“I was looking for you. Buy me a drink?” She simpers and smiles prettily, it’s useless with him, but then she’d never want to be on his bad side.

“As you wish.” He gestures to the bar, and she leads the way, stepping up to a stool that’s still in eye line of their table. Roan nods to the barman and two glasses of rum are slid across to them.

“How’s your exile going?” She asks conversationally, swishing the drink around before taking a sip.

“Never better, but you don’t give a shit about my exile.”

“No, I don’t.” She agrees with a rueful smile and another sip. It burns in the best way, she’ll get some for the ship, for when it’s just her alone in the crow’s nest at the end of night.

“Then why are you here?”

“What do you know of Bellamy Blake?”

Roans eyes narrow, she’s found her X on The map. “Never met the man, but I know he took down that Goddamn British naval ship that was trying to control our waters.”

“Killed every last one of them too.”

“Killed his crew too, probably him, as well” Roan agrees as he downs his drink and slams it on the bar. It will be refilled by the time she’s finished her next sentence.

“Only probably?” She quirks an eyebrow, his glass is refilled.

“They found a hell of a lot of bodies there, Clarke, but not one of them was identified as him, my guess is he’s fish food. Why are you asking? Did you come all the way out here to ask about a dead pirate?”

Subtly, she tilts her head towards her table, they’re back to being rowdy, only the occasional suspicious glance is thrown their way. “Dark hair, ill fitting clothes. Found him drifting in a battered up jolly boat pretty banged up. No gunshot wounds, but a pretty bad head wound.”

Roan is less subtle, he openly stares and stares until he’s seen what he needs to and turns back to Clarke. “Who does he say he is?”

“That’s my issue, he’s lost his memories, no name, no home, no nothing.”

He gives her a sceptical look, and he’s probably right, she’s probably crazy, or paranoid, perhaps both. But there’s this feeling she can’t quite shake, there’s something bubbling under the surface, like a shadow in murky waters she’s unsure what to expect of him.

“You think the guy sniffing his beer is Bellamy Blake?”

To be fair – he is sniffing it a lot.

“As I said, he’s got no memories, he could just be a washed up sailor.”

There’s a pause, heavy and fraught as Roan stares at him. When he finally turns back to her, there’s a suspicion in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Like I said, I’ve never met Bellamy Blake and I’ve never met this guy. They could be the same person, but they’re probably not. What I _do_ know is he got in a fight some years ago, Azgeda territory before I pissed everyone off, got a pretty bad scar right about here.” He traces his thumb over her top lip, she closes her eyes and tries to think, she’s got close enough to him to notice any obvious scars, she’d have noticed that, she’s sure of. “They say he’s from around here, if anything’s going to jog his memory, it’s here.”

“I’ll keep an eye out. Thanks, Roan.”

“No problem, and if it is him and he kills you, I’ll make sure the legend of Wanheda lives on.”

She huffs out a laugh, barely humorous but Roan knows how to get her. “Yeah I bet you will.” She gives a parting smile and goes back to her crew, they’re loud and dysfunctional - they’re family.

It’s the first peaceful nights sleep she’s had, docked and steady she wakes to more noise in the distance and it almost feels likes the life she left behind. But those days are long gone. In her ship she can sail anywhere she wants, she just can’t go home.

The day brings a warm buzz and promise of supplies. She gives her coin purse to Raven, probably her most trustworthy option beside Monty and Harper, but she was giving them the day off to explore. She can see them getting antsy on the ship, she thinks maybe they want more than what _Our Lady of Sorrows_ can offer.

On the dock, she slips Miller a coin and he raises as eyebrow at her.

“If you happen to see any good Rum on your way around.” She tells him, pointedly not looking at him.

“This won’t get you any good Rum, this won’t get you bad Rum”

She raises an eyebrow, tilting her head to him “I’m not asking you to _buy_ the Rum, I’m asking you to keep the Rum a secret.”

“Right, got it.” He smirks as he saunters off, she’s left with just _him._ Their nomad who’s looking around like a lost puppy. Roan said if anything’s going to jog his memory, it’s here.

“Come on” she smiles, linking her arm with his and pulling him forwards. She’ll drag him along with her whether he likes it or not, but as it stands, he stays close to her, she’s his navigator guiding him through the unknown. “We’re going on a walk.”

“We are?” He asks, confused in a way that amuses her. Amnesia was a funny thing, he knew how to walk, and talk and eat, he was still a person, but he was a shell. Barely a personality and nothing sentimental to think of. It might be the best way to live, nothing tying you down or anchoring you to painful memories, maybe he’s happier this way, she’ll never know.

“Mm hmm” she nods, pulling him away from the markets, from the stares and the hisses to the quieter areas, where the local children play freely and mothers hang their washing without care. Without the madness of the market stools, its peaceful and calm, people around here don’t seem to have a care in the world, they look how she feels on the open sea.

She looks to him as they walk, looks for any sense of recognition but there’s none. He’s looking around in awe, this is all brand new to him, solid ground for the man who was born from the sea. There’s a hint of disappointment, she can’t quite work out why though. Does she want him to be Bellamy Blake?

Maybe.

At least then he won’t be a mystery, he wouldn’t be a puzzle she’s desperate to solve. Perhaps she wants it to be him for his own sake, he needs a sense of identity and she longs to give him that.

When it becomes clear she’s taken herself on a wild goose chase, she leads them back to the markets. It’s a shame, though – he seemed so much peaceful there, this life might be more for him than the sea, but that would be up to him. Now he looks around the market unsure.

“Do you remember where the ship is?” She asks, overly cheerful and enthusiastic. It seems fake even to her, but he doesn’t seem fazed by it. He just nods mutely so she smiles “Good. It’s a free day, go explore. We’re meeting back there at sunset, if you’re late we’ll go without you.” It’s a subtle message, he can stay if he wishes, she just hopes he understood.

With that, she turns to leave and leaves him to be eaten alive by the sailors and thieves.

She’s got her own business to attend to, and a pocket that’s weighing her down.

She doesn’t go straight there though, she takes her time, looks around a little first. She catches a glimpse of Blonde that is Harper running through a busy street, Monty is tow as he usually is. They’re carefree and happy, slowly outgrowing the confines on her ship, but that was alright.

Some vendors shoot her glares and warnings to stay away from her stall, others encourage her – delighted by the thought of having _Wanheda_ buy from them, a story to go home and tell their families, to tell in the tavern over cheap Moonshine. She humours some of them, picks up pretty fabrics and delicate jewellery not worth half of what she has.

But eventually, she makes her way to the dark corner where _she_ sits, with her receipts and debts and ominous predictions. She doesn’t look up as Clarke makes her way forward, but still knows it’s her.

“Take a seat, Clarke.” She murmurs as she picks up her deck of cards that makes Clarkes stomach twist. “I didn’t think you would be back so soon.”

“I thought you knew everything.” Clarke smiled, trying desperately not to show her nerves. Gaia just smiles back and raises a brow at her.

Gaia was a warrior’s daughter who chose divine omniscience over violence. Clarke respects her for that, even if she is a little a frightened of what she tells her.

“Shuffle.” Gaia demands, thrusting the pack of cards towards her. Clarke shakes her head, she doesn’t want the cards, she doesn’t need to know what they might tell her.

“I don’t want – ”

“Shuffle.”

With a sigh, Clarke takes the cards, shuffling them as Gaia sits back looking over her appraisingly.

“You look different.”

“My hairs grown.” Clarke mutters, though she knows that’s not _why_ she looks different.

“You look worried.”

“I’m always worried.” She passes the cards back to Gaia, who smiles proud in return and lays the cards face down on the table. Clarkes not sure if she believes much in Tarot, but it’s a game Gaia plays and Clarke is not one to back down.

“That you are. Pick a card.”

Hesitantly, she closes her eyes plucks a card from the deck, flipping it over on the table. Gaia smirks as she assesses it.

“Strength card, of course it is. It symbolises courage, conviction, energy, determination, and action. But also exerting control over situations and yourself. If you're right about being worried, take a moment to access all the strength and power you have inside.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, she doesn’t mean to, and she doesn’t miss how Gaia’s eyes narrow at her.

“How encouraging.”

She knows she has strength, she’s always had the strength to do what needed to be done, she always will. She’s certainly not worried that she can’t handle whatever’s about to be thrown at her.

“Pick another.”

There’s no arguing now, she’s already begun so she takes another without looking. Somehow, the noise of the market slips away as it always does when she’s here. Instead, it’s replaced with an overpowering hum that doesn’t faze anybody else, Gaia never seems to notice, so she’s convinced it’s in her own head. She’ll leave here with a headache that lasts for days and more often than not – a foul mood.

“Reversed Star, interesting.”

“Is it?”

Gaia doesn’t entertain her, just traces her fingers over the pictures. “Unfulfilled hopes, disappointment, crushed dreams, it’s what you would expect of the princess who became the Commander of Death.”

Clarke huffs a laugh at how wrong she is. The life she left behind was the one filled with disappointment and unfulfilled hope, not this one. If her dreams had been crushed she wouldn’t have the strength the cards claim she has.

“Bad luck, Imbalance” she continues “You might feel hopelessness, but that doesn’t mean all hope is lost. Do you feel hopeless, Wanheda?”

It’s a challenge that she rises to. “I always have hope.” She takes a card without being prompted and slams it on the table, Gaia looks down in surprise.

“Justice.” She breathes “Harmony, balance, equality, righteousness, virtue, honour, and advice. It means a time for adjustments, and an opportunity to bring physical, emotional, social, and spiritual things back into balance. It is time to stand tall and strong against the things that might be trying to throw you off balance.”

“That’s a little more positive.” Clarke smiles tightly, somehow her doubt for these things always slip away in the moment.

“Reversed though,” Gaia continues without so much as a pause to Clarkes interruption. “stands for bias, false accusations, intolerance, unfairness, and abuse. You might feel like a victim. It's also an indication that justice must be done and balance restored. You must do what you can to right a situation.”

“Well which is it?” Clarke demands, starting hard at Gaia. But Gaia just looks pointedly down to the card laying sideways on the table.

“Only you know.”

“I don’t.”

“Then maybe it’s both.”

Clarke pauses, she hates this, all of it. She doesn’t want to do this anymore but her hand goes forward anyway to pluck another card as her heart threatens to break free from her chest.

“The Devil”

Her heart stops, she knows this can’t mean anything good.

“Downfall, unexpected failure, controversy, violence, disaster, an ill-tempered person, weird or strange experiences.”

It’s not about her – that’s the first thing that comes to mind, it’s _him._ Everything that leads her to believe this man could have once been a dangerous pirate who ruled the seas is in front of her. _This_ is what she came for.

“I’ve heard enough.” She tells Gaia “Tell me if the spirits – ”

“Pick another card.”

“I don’t want to, I want the spirits – ”

“It’s bad luck to not pick another card.”

“I am the bad luck.” Clarke spits, her temper finally getting the better of her. Her hands slam on the table and she leans forward out of her chair, she may be small but she knows she can be intimidating too. “Death follows me and so does the devil. If I say it’s over then it’s over. Tell me what the spirits say.”

There’s a heavy silence between them, neither break eye contact, neither will be the first to back down willingly, but it has to be one of them. Clarke finally leans back when Gaia reaches for the Flame, hidden in an old box that would disguise how much power it holds to be believers.

She never used to be a believer, not when she was young and tales of ALIEs powers were rampant, not when she was on the sea and men and women alike went mad with delusions of a life with no pain. Not until she lost Lexa, _she_ believed, and Clarke needed the same hope she believed in.

Gaia holds out her hand to her, The Flame flat in her palm and Clarke covers it over her own hand, closing her eyes and willing someone to come through.

Her eyes flicker shut, a sure sign the spirits are coming through. “He’s here.”

“Who?” She breaths, letting out he breath she didn’t realise she was holding.

“It’s strong.”

“Who is it?”

 _“You have every right to be scared, Clarke.”_ It’s not Gaia, it’s her voice, it comes from her mouth but it’s not her words.

“What am I scared of?”

“It’s him” says Gaia coming to with a wince, whoever it is, they’re stronger than anyone else who has come through before.

“Gaia who, I need something, anything. A letter.”

“W”

“Wells” she whispers, shocked he of all people would come through. He’s always there, in the back of her mind silently disapproving of the person she’s become.

 _“They’re coming for you.”_ Her voice is deeper, commanding and powerful in a way Gaia never is, it’s Wells through and through.

“Who are?” She demands, Gaia’s eyes flicker, her hand trembling under hers.

_“He’s not who he says he is.”_

“Who’s not?”

 _“Him!”_ It’s strong, the strongest she’s ever heard Gaia speak from the spirits. _“He is trouble and danger and when he remembers he will kill you like he kills everybody else in his path.”_

“Wells who is he?”

_“I have to go, I’m sorry.”_

“Wells please – ”

_“I love you.”_

Clarke holds back tears as Gaia’s eyes open fully, staring at Clarke confused and dazed as she always does. Her fist closes around the Flame and it is gone from Clarkes grasp once again.

“Your ghosts are strong, Wanheda” Gaia mutters as he rubs her temples. There’s nothing Clarke can say, nothing she can do but slam the coins on the table and flee before anyone can see her tears. She holds off until she can press herself into a secluded corner deep in the market and let herself be free for just a moment. She reminds herself who she is, she is strength and courage, she is more than her ghosts so she wipes her tears and keeps her head held high as she makes her way back into the market.

There’s one last bit of business who tend to, an elder man with weathered skin and cracked hands who does not judge her for what she brings.

“You have something to trade?” He asks with a kind smile that is a rare sight these days. She pulls out her purse, her collection of jewels slowly dwindles as she trades them bit by bit. She could trade them all in at once, but when they’re gone, she has no security. Nothing left to sell so she keeps them close.

She passes a gold necklace with an Opal pendant, a present from a different life from a Royal who rules a far away kingdom now. He takes his time looking over it, inspecting it like she’d give him a fake. But she knows it’s not personal, it’s business.

He’s a fair tradesman, the fairest she knows and when he passes her the coins she knows better than to argue with him, just nod in thanks and retreats. She’s not sure when she’ll be back here, there’s always a fleeting thought as she makes her way back to her ship at sunset that this could be the last time she sees dry land.

If it was, she wouldn’t be sad. 

\- - - - - - -

He dreams of simpler times, when his heart is light and his days were free.

She’s running through the forest, he’s deliberately slower so she thinks she’s winning, because that’s what he does. He’ll do anything to see her smile, to see her happy and laughing like this.

She stops when she’s out of breath, hands on her knees bent forward and panting until she catches her breath. She’s a skinny little thing, they never have enough to eat and she burns off more energy than she consumes, but still she keeps on going.

Bathed in the golden sunlight that filters through the trees she spreads her arms and grins up to the sky. A blue butterfly lands delicately on her arms and he whispers –

“Keep still so you don’t scare it off.”

She does as she’s told, she always does. When it flutters away she pouts with tears in her eyes and asks “Did I scare it away?”

“No” he laughs “Of course not. They don’t land for long, they keep on moving, see” he points to where the butterflies landed on a flower, briefly resting before flying off again, losing it to the distance but she smiles anyway, satisfied that it wasn’t her.

Then she’s running again, always running.

When she’s older, she’s angry and always shouting. There’s a grief that overwhelms him, constricts his chest when he thinks of what he’s lost. She’s rebellious and defiant, he already knows he’s losing what little control he has.

His world tilts and sways in a way he’s never experienced, he’s given up everything to be here, committed crimes and pissed off people in very high places to follow her to the end of the earth.

Now, chaos surrounds her, people bow to her, worship her for the death and destruction she brings. Blood is smeared across her face down her arms, drips from her fingers tips as bodies lay strewn across the deck.

“This is who I am now big brother.” She tells him, eyes cold and hard and seared into his mind when he wakes in a cold sweat, his world still tilts and sways, it takes him a few breaths to realise they set sail again at some point while he was sleeping.

He steps quietly out of bed, the world outside black from his tiny window. He needs air, he needs to clear his head from the dreams that felt so real. The girl had called him big brother, there was a familiarity there but he doesn’t know if it’s his mind playing tricks on him, it seems to do that a lot these days.

The deck is quiet and peaceful, they’ve anchored far away from anything he can see, only a sliver of moon and a million stars seem to be his company.

“What are you doing up so late?” A voice calls from the crow’s nest. He’d forgotten someone would be on shift up there. He’s reluctant to answer, until he realises it’s Clarke.

“Couldn’t sleep” he lies.

“Well come on up and join the club.”

The ladder up the crow’s nest has always made him feel queasy, though he’s not quite sure why. Maybe it’s the height, the further away the deck gets, the harder he’ll hit it when he inevitably slips one day.

But he doesn’t slip, he’s made it safely and sits next to Clarke on the floor. Despite the lack of light, just like the first time he saw her there’s an ethereal glow about her. She passes him a bottle of something, after the tavern he’s distrustful of anything they give him. She smirks at his appraisal.

“It’s Rum, better than Beer and whatever Monty and Jasper tries to pass off as moonshine. But shh, it’s a secret.”

He takes a swig, it is better, but that doesn’t mean much. It still burns on the way down, but this time he’s left with a warm feeling in his belly rather than the feeling of his insides burning away like when he drank moonshine, or the heavy, sluggish feeling he got from beer.

They take it in turns to drink from the bottle, passing it back and forth and occasionally checking the telescope. It’s a peaceful silence, one that he’s found is rare, so he’s almost disappointed when she breaks it.

“What are you doing up so late, anyway?” She murmurs, passing the bottle to him.

“I had a weird dream.” Is all he gives away.

She turns to look at him, eyebrows creased and head tilted, he’s sure there’s a look of concern there. “About what?”

“I don’t know.” A half truth “I don’t remember.” A lie. She nods though and looks back to the darkened waters. “What about you, I’m sure Miller said it was his turn up here.”

“Yeah.” She smiles “But I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d take over. He hates it up here, especially at night.”

He can understand why. In the day the water is clear and blue, inviting and lush but now, in the black of the night it’s deep and murky and teeming with uninviting mysteries. He wonders how long he spent like that, floating aimlessly in the deep dark waters, he wonders what was out there waiting to get him.

“Murphy said your chambers are haunted.” He doesn’t know why he blurts it out the way he does, but he wants to know. He’s not sure what he believes in anymore. She laughs though, light and musical, it lights her face up through the darkness.

“Something like that.” She nods. Then they’re back to silence, and he find that he misses her voice somehow.

“Tell me something.” He murmurs, watching her as she looks to him in confusion.

“Like what?”

“Anything. I don’t know anything. How did you get the ship? Murphy said you and Raven stole it?”

She smiles a little sadly. “Now that _is_ a story.”

“Then tell it. Please.”

He doesn’t think she’s going to, she just stares out at the horizon with sad eyes but finally she speaks.

“I was seventeen when I first met Finn. He was new to town, came from a good family, he was charming, polite, kind, everything you want when you’re courting. I didn’t see how anything could possibly go wrong. That was until Raven shows up out of the blue, turns out they were childhood sweethearts and engaged before he left, he said it was a miscommunication, he thought she knew they were breaking up when he moved away but – ” she shrugs, eyes purposely blank as she stares ahead. “It broke my heart. Then my father died, and I lost my best friend a few weeks later, an orphaned girl killed him because his father sent her parents to their death.”

He sits back in surprise, it certainly wasn’t the story he was expecting – if he was expecting anything at all.

“Then a rumour started” she murmurs quietly, he hopes for her sake the story isn’t about to get worse. “That Finn had committed high treason in the next town over. He was imprisoned and due to be hung the next day, so I made a plan with Raven to steal a ship and get away. I snuck into his jail cell the night we left and stuck a blade through his heart. Raven and I stole the Eleanor Rose and renamed it Our Lady of Sorrows and set sail. You can imagine how awkward that was at first.”

There’s a hint of a smirk, but it dies off as quickly as it came. For his part, he’s speechless. There’s nothing to say that would make this any better. For her part, she’s apathetic – still staring blankly out to the sea like she wishes it would swallow her whole.

“I’m so sorry.” Is all he can think to say. She smiles sadly at him and shrugs a shoulder.

“It’s alright, I found a family here. We picked up some strays along the way and made the pieces fit together. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them.”

He believes her when she says it. If she can stick a knife through the man’s heart she once loved to save him from a more painful death, he never wants to cross her.

She’s strong in a way he didn’t expect when he first lay eyes on her, she’s pretty and delicate, when she smiles her entire face lights up, but he sees the tragedy there too. Shes got an inner strength that isn’t admired enough.

He thought maybe he had a saviour complex, but the more learns of her, the more he likes _her,_ not his angel.

Cautiously, he thinks he might have found a family here too.

\- - - - - - -

“There’s a storm coming.” Monty announces gravely, staring down at the contraption that cost Clarke a good few coins and a pair of gold earrings.

Murphy looks up to the sky and snorts. “Sure there is.”

“There is.” Monty insists.

“There is not a single cloud in the sky, how can you possibly say there’s a storm coming?” Murphy gestures to the clear sky angrily, Clarke can already see this turning into an argument. She looks at the barometer for herself and sighs.

“He’s right, Murphy. The air pressures way up, and it is hurricane season, we were expecting another bad storm you know how quickly they come around.”

She’s met with a glare from Murphy, but no pushback luckily. She’s not sure she can handle that today. With her lack of sleep of, Gaia’s predictions and Wells’ warning running through her mind she might just push Murphy overboard if he gets on the wrong side of her today.

Luckily, their newest stray interrupts their stare off.

“What is that?” He asks, pointing to Monty’s Barometer.

“Oh” Monty grins, delighted that someone’s taken interest in his favourite toy. “It’s called a barometer, it measures air pressure so you can tell what the weathers going to be like.”

“Can’t you tell that by just looking at the sky?” He asks, confused. Murphy and Clarke share an amused grin at Monty’s dismay.

“No this tells you the weather before it happens.”

“How?”

“Air pressure.”

Clarke can see the gears turning in his mind, so she puts him out of his misery and moves on from talks of air pressure that even she doesn’t really understand.

“I think we need to head away from here, we’re going to keep hitting storms and I don’t want to be docked for long periods of time.”

There’s a silence around her, a question hangs heavy in the air. Ravens finally the one to ask, “Where do we go?”,

She shrugs half heartedly “We can’t go north, Azgeda are waiting to cut my head off.”

“That’s a bad thing, why?” Murphy mutters. Clarke just glares back.

“Don’t be an epic dick, Murphy.” Harper rolls her eyes. “Why don’t we keep going east? Monty said the air pressures better that way.”

“It is.” Monty pipes up, much to Murphy’s annoyance. “Less storms there and not as powerful when they do come.”

“Sure.” Clarke agrees, as long as they get out of the storm zone and save the ship getting too battered she didn’t really care where they went, that was as long as she wasn’t going to get beheaded.

 _Reversed Star_ , she thinks ruefully. _Bad luck, Imbalance_ , _hopelessness._

_Do you feel hopeless, Wanheda?_

Never.

“We go east then.” She announces. “We’ll get as much wind behind us as we can now. I’m not sure it’s enough to outrun the storm, I just pray it’s enough to get away from the worst of it.”

“Wait wait wait.” Murphy snaps, “East? How far East?”

“Europe.” Clarke shrugs, “Maybe not England, but Mediterranean, Spain, perhaps Greece.”

“I’m wanted in Europe, I can’t go there.” He snarls.

“How are you wanted in an entire continent?” Monty snorts, not looking up from his Barometer. It’s earns a ripple of laughter from the rest of the crew at least.

“I had a life before I met you lot. They’ll imprison me on sight, the death penalties hanging over my head.”

“That’s a bad thing why?” Clarke mimics.

“Very good.” Murphy smirks, but still they’re at an impasse. She’s got a map with an outline of South America, but nothing clear mapped out, they’ll be travelling blind, just following the coast like they did travelling north.

_The Devil._

_Downfall, unexpected failure, controversy, violence, disaster, an ill-tempered person, weird or strange experiences._

She takes a deep breath, time to make a decision. For better or for worst they were her crew, she can’t lead them into another Mount Weather, she won’t put them in that situation again – she won’t put herself there again. She can’t see her face on anymore wanted posters.

_Strength._

_C_ _ourage, conviction, determination, and action. Exerting control over situations and yourself._

_Access all the strength and power you have inside._

“It’s uncharted territory for us.” She warns, giving each a pointed look. “We don’t know what we’ll face, we don’t know who or what are waiting for us there. But we’ve been through hell together and made it out the other side stronger. We can do that now, if you have faith.”

There’s a nervous silence and unsure glances, she’s not one to make motivational speeches, people don’t follow her naturally, she’s not likeable or charismatic, they’re all here because of circumstances. She hopes that they’ll follow her now though.

“What the hell.” Miller finally pipes up “It’s an adventure”

She smiles tightly, if not wearily. “We said that about Mount Weather too.”

“Yeah that was an adventure too.” Miller grins “I’m in.”

“We’ve made it this far, let’s see where the rest of the world takes up.” Raven says nonchalantly, but there’s a hint of fondness there.

“Adventure.” Murphy snorts. “Who wants a damn adventure. I’m in.”

There’s a weight lifting off her chest, slowly but surely. Monty and Harper look unsure, but after a hushed conversation they agree, but Clarke thinks it may be reluctant. She’s not holding them hostage though, they’re free to leave at any time.

“What about you, Nomad?” She smiles softly at _him_ “How do you feel about a little adventure?”

He pauses, unsure but shrugs anyway. “Everything’s uncharted to me, I may as well come along for the ride.”

She sighs in relief, she’s not sure why she expected more push back from them, maybe she should have more faith in them.

“So we go south?”

There’s a murmur of agreement, and back into the depths of the unknown they go.

They couldn’t outrun the storm that was promised, though. Clouds rolled in thick and heavy with rain as the sun began to set. Darkness begins to take over before the moon can show itself.

It starts with rain, falling in torrential sheets and soaking them through in seconds. It bounces off the deck deafeningly, so much she has to shout over it when the wind begins to howl and dips the boat for Jasper to get below deck before he pukes everywhere.

He doesn’t though, he stays when thunder booms through the sky and lightening cracks down too close to them. It illuminates the panic in the dark and sends a quiet frenzy through the ship but still they continue, they have to.

The waves send the ship on wild highs and lows, sometimes she things they might not come up again, _Our Lady of Sorrows_ will capsize and they’ll be left to the ocean. The wheel spins out of her control and she’s not strong enough to hold it down like she’d like to. But she’s the captain, this is her space, her job. Everybody else have their roles, she can’t pull them off them because she’s weak.

Then, _he’s_ there. Standing so close she can hear his struggle over the wind and rain, he grabs hold of the wheel and controls it better than she can on her own. The ships designed for storms, it’s made to absorb the waves that batter them but still she panics every time.

“How long do these usually last?” He shouts, his hairs dripping down his face, drops falling off his nose down to his shirt that clings to him like a second skin. She wonders how she must look, drenched and panicked.

She shrugs unhelpfully “Hours, maybe, sometimes longer.”

He’s looking at her in a way she’s never seen, intense and dark, somehow the man with no memories sees through her, for the shambles of a Captain she is, unable to gain control through a storm she knew was coming.

He knows she’s weak.

The thought devastates her, but this is not the time for crushing disappointment, it’s the time to gain control.

The sky lights up again and thunder rattles the ship, she feels in deep in her bones and shakes her heart. She looks to _him_ as his expression darkens, she wants to ask what he’s thinking of, was this his first memory, adrift in a storm with no way of getting out?

Was this painful to think of? Or was it something else?

The waves even out eventually, as the wind moves on and the rain slows to a pathetic drizzle, Clarke hopes the clouds will part in the morning and dry up the deck, they usually do.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, nobody every asks her that.

She nods in response, not trusting her voice enough to lie. Shes not alright, she feels as wrecked as her ship almost was.

Somehow, he sees through her.

She takes a moment to look around at her exhausted crew, soaked to the bone and weary.

“Everybody alright?” She calls, hesitant nods come slowly. “Jasper?”

“I’m going to puke.”

“Go puke.” She sighs as he runs below deck. “Everybody to bed. We’re not sinking so we’ll just – ” she drags a hand down her face, what will they do? “Assess the damage in the morning when we’ve all had some sleep.”

She’s still rooted to the spot as the crew make their way below deck. Her hearts beating fasting than it should, she’s tired, but too psyched up to sleep. There’s a weariness that won’t go, even in sleep she can’t escape so she cleans up. Slowly putting the parts of the ship they’d taken down to avoid damage back up. She puts a cup of ginger tea and crackers outside of Jaspers door and sweeps the water that’s gathered off the deck.

Then she’s left with a bottle of rum and the darkest of nights wondering if she belongs here.

“You’re still awake.”

The voice makes her jump, their silent approach impressive, or maybe she was just too far in her own head to notice.

What an awful excuse for a pirate she was.

He sits next to her, dark hair dry and wild, untameable curls dropping over this forehead.

“Yeah, still here.” She nods “just cleaning up.”

“It looks like you’re drinking.”

She snorts “Yeah. That too.”

“The cleaning up could have waited until the morning. You didn’t have to do it alone.” It’s said more gentle than she expected, more intense and…caring. He’s still looking at her like he did before, intense and dark, there’s something there though, something that wasn’t there before. She thinks maybe he’s coming back to himself, whoever that may be.

“It could have” she agrees “But there’s enough to do in the morning without all the little things. Besides I wasn’t sleeping tonight anyway.

She passes him the bottle, he doesn’t cringe when he drinks it anymore. “You don’t have to bear it all alone, you know that right? You have a crew, they respect you.”

Somehow he’s managed to tap into one of her deepest fears with just a look. But he doesn’t know of Mount Weather, he doesn’t know of the shame and disgust in her crews face that’s slowly and reluctantly disappeared over the months.

“Sometimes it’s better to bear it alone.” She smiles sadly, an old self hatred creeping back. He’s silent as he passes the bottle back to her, staring at the same horizon she is but seeing different things.

“You did good last night.”

She wants to laugh, then cry. “What do you know of storms?”

He smiles cautiously into the night. “I remember clinging to a boat I barely fit into praying it didn’t capsize. I don’t really remember that storm ending, sometimes it seems like it’s still going, right here.” He places a hand over her heart and it sucks the breath out of her, she knows, somewhere deep down that this is not the same man she found. She nods though, because she understands having a storm in your heart, ever lasting and ferocious, her ghosts still scream through it.

They’re silent until a sliver of light across the horizon fills the sky and gulls screech hungrily. Clear blue skies welcome them to a new day, they’ll be alright.

There’s a tear in the sail that needs repairing if it’s going to make it anywhere. She’s not sure if it’s entirely repairable but she needs to at least try. Murphy and Miller get it down while Raven, Monty and Harper inspect the rest of the ship.

It’s a pretty big tear, nothing that can’t be fixed though. As much as she’s shied away from her Privileged upbringing, she gained valuable skills from it.

She never expected to be using them to patch up a torn sail on a stolen ship, though.

Oh if only she were sixteen again.

Laying out the sail flat along the deck as everybody else is put to work, Clarke takes out her sewing kit, a reminder of a life she left behind. But she likes this kind of work, its mindless and she lets muscle memory take over and her mind wander aimlessly.

Her mind wandering is not always for the best, though. She worries about what could possibly be waiting for them going south, what new dangers hide around the corner. What if the weathers worse there? What if she’s wanted down there too? What if her reputations spread further than she’d like?

What if they recognise _him?_

If he wasn’t presumed dead there is sure to be a bounty put on him. Even without taking out the HMS Rover, Bellamy Blake had ruled the seas for years, making more enemies than Clarke could even begin to comprehend.

It might not be him, though. She has to remind herself that every time she looks at him.

But there’s something there, a gut feeling that is yet to fail her.

“Can I help?” Once again he’s taken her by surprise, he’s either very quiet or she needs to get the hell out of her own head.

Speak of the devil…

The thing about him is, he’s always willing to do something, anything. Any task they give him he’s open and enthusiastic about learning it. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t know much, maybe its because he doesn’t know who he is.

On his very first day he’d got stuck in with fixing the ship with Raven, he’d scrubbed the deck with Jasper and fished with Miller. Murphy had put his foot down with having anybody in his Galley, though.

He’s fit in well, though. They a miss match of characters, it could have been overwhelming but he’s took it in his stride. Slowly, he’s begun worming his way into her heart, too. It’s sort of endearing, watching him learn all these new things, and he always grins at her in a way that makes her heart beat a little faster, in ways it hasn’t done in a long while.

“Sure. Come here” she moves over so he can sit next to her. Marking out where needed stitching, she hands him the needle. She expects him to be slow and clumsy, but he’s not. He’s skilled and precise in a way that took her years to perfect. Almost like its…

Muscle memory.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, is a drunken, murky conversation with a disgruntled pirate whose ship was destroyed by Bellamy Blake and his crew. Killed a good half of his crew, he was spitting mad in a tavern in South Carolina.

_“How in god’s name does a son a fucking seamstress end up terrorising the seas like this?”_

She’d laughed at the time, young and drunk and invincible, she didn’t give a shit about Bellamy Blake and his murderous crew. _Let him come_ , she’d think back then. _I’ll take a knife to his throat and a cannon to his ship, let his crew watch him suffer as they drown._

She shudders at the thought now, she was a different person back then, thought she’d already been through the worst of what the world had to offer her.

How wrong she was to think the universe would be kind.

She realises then, as he’s consumed by his work that she’s staring, and entirely too close to him. He doesn’t notice, which gives her more time to just look at him, openly and unabashed she takes time to lock his face into her memory. Her eyes drop to his lips, and her stomach drops to the deck.

The scar is exactly where Roan said it would be.

By its own volition her fingers reach up to trace the slash, uneven and pale against his dark skin, she wonders how she missed it before. When she meets his stare, there’s a fire that burns beneath the surface, burns the tips of her fingers that meet his skin.

“How did you get this?” She murmurs, dropping her hand from his lips.

“I don’t remember.” He breathes, eyes going impossibly dark. He feels the fire too.

“Of course you don’t.” She smiles, then drops her gaze before she does something stupid like kiss him. “You’re good at this, muscle memory?” She nods to his stitch work on the sail, already better than hers.

“Must be natural.” He shrugs, a little self consciously.

“I’m jealous, I’ve never been a natural at anything.”

“Maybe you just haven’t found it yet.” He grins, and it breaks the tension a little.

The sail goes back up later in the day, repaired enough to get them through until they can dock and get a new one.

“We’ll dock first chance we get.” She announces. “We won’t stay long, we’ve got enough supplies to get us through a while, just a few hours to find a new sail and get it in place.”

There’s a murmur of agreement and that, she thinks – is that.

Except – it’s not.

Later in the night when the moons high and she’s braiding her hair for bed there’s a gentle rap on the door. With a frown she pulls the door open to find Monty and Harper standing nervously outside her chambers.

“Oh.” Clarke stands back in surprise, she never has visitors down here, they say its haunted. It’s her who is haunted, though. “I didn’t expect to see you down here so late.”

“Yeah.” Monty agrees. “We don’t tend to come down here so late.”

“Nobody comes down here at all. Come in.” Clarke steps to the side to let them in. They’re hesitant, but sit gingerly on the edge of her bed. She leans against the desk, arms crossed over her chest and nods at them as they look nervously around her cabin.

“We’re docking soon.” Monty begins, Clarke thinks he’s going to continue, but he’s just looking at her with his goddamn puppy eyes that get her every time.

“In the next couple days yes.” She sighs. Harper and Monty give each other a sideways glance. “Out with it.”

“We’re staying on land.” Harper tells her softly, and Clarkes heart sinks a little. “When we dock, wherever we end up, we’re staying there. We want a life that’s not…” she trails of a little sadly, Clarke just smiles.

“That’s not on a ship filled with thieves and murderers.” Clarke finishes for them. She knew this was coming. Knew that this was not the life they longed for.

Monty, at least blushes. “I don’t think Ravens ever killed anyone.”

“She has.” Clarke assures him. He looks mildly alarmed, but its eclipsed by the sadness of leaving. “I’ll miss you guys.” Her voice cracks as she says it, as much as she promised herself she wouldn’t cry when her crew decided to move on, they were her family, the best she’s ever known. “You’re the most sane of them all.”

Harper chokes out a laugh, but she’s not hiding her tears. “We’ll miss you too. You gave us a home where we found each other. You saved us in more way than one, I promise we won’t forget you.”

“You better not. The least you could do is name your firstborn after me.”

“Sorry.” Monty smiles sheepishly “Jaspers already dibbed that.”

“Goddamn it.” She mutters, but it breaks the tension and they laugh, a little watery, a little sad, but it’s time for them move on.

She skirts around Nassau with its bad reputation, brothels and trades she wants no part in, she’s not sure she’d get Murphy out of there alive, and if Monty and Harper are looking to settle down into a quiet life, that is not the place for it.

They dock in the Bahamas, vibrant and busy and so goddamn hot she thinks she might sweat straight through her thinnest dress. She doesn’t even like wearing dresses, but if she wears anything else she fears she might melt into the sand and become one with the sea. But it’s worth it when she stands with Monty and Harper on the beach, hand in hand and positively beaming.

“Here.” She passes a purse with jewels and gold, reminiscent of her past life that will do some good for them. Besides, after the pawn them Miller will probably steal them back anyway. “To get you started.”

“Clarke you shouldn’t – ” Monty starts, but she cuts him off.

“Take care out there.” She swallows tears back, but really, it’s hard to be sad when they look so happy. Harpers the first to wrap her arms around her neck tightly, then Monty, then they’re walking into the bustling market, beaming towards their new life.

There’s a shift somewhere within her, a longing for the life she ran away from – if only she could be half as happy as they were.

But they were good people, and they deserved a good life without the pain the last few years have brought them.

Now all she can do is stare at their footprints in the sand walking away from her, towards a happier life.

_Justice._

_Harmony, balance, equality, righteousness, virtue, honour._

\- - - - - - -

The sound of gunshot consumes him.

The blast of cannons fill the air and he relishes the blood that floods the deck. Yes, he’s lost good men but they died fighting – died with honour and that would not be forgotten.

There’s blood on his hands, physically and metaphorically but he’s past caring. Everyone he’s ever cared about has left him to bask in the darkness that consumes his soul.

 _She’s_ here somewhere, on the sea with her followers that die for her should the opportunity arise. She’s stronger, more powerful than he ever dreamed. It’s a strange feeling, but in a way he’s proud of her – she became the villain of the childhood stories he read to her while their mother was out working.

Now he’s the villain too.

There’s a bloodlust that once was uncontrollable, now he doesn’t want to control it – doesn’t _need_ to control it. Out here there was no control – they did whatever they hell they wanted. What was once a prisoner ship held no prisoners now. Their past crimes now long forgotten, and the crimes they commit now they do without consequence.

When he wakes he’s soaked in sweat, not blood. His hearts racing in fear, not from exhilaration.

He knows where to find her though. She never sleeps either, whether it’s from nightmares or the fear of them, he doesn’t know. But he does know she’s sitting in the crow’s nest alone, drinking stolen rum and staring into the night sky and murky waters with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

That’s where he finds her now, knees drawn to her chest looking every bit as despairing as he thought she would. Wordlessly he sits next to her, closer than he used to – but they are too. The bottle of Rums hanging loosely from her fingers, a different one than he’s used to seeing, but they’ve been to a different place.

She doesn’t ask him if he can’t sleep, just like he doesn’t ask her. It’s just routine now, to find each other like this.

“Want to talk about it?” She asks quietly, her voice a soft melancholy that sends shivers through him, despite the warm night.

“No. Do you?”

She almost smiles – almost. “No.”

So they sit in silence, a bottle of rum passed between them. Somewhere up high a star shoots across the sky. Clarke had told him you were supposed to make a wish on them, he’d always wished he would remember who was. Now, he wishes he could forget.

“I miss them already” she murmurs into the night. He wants to tell her that so does he, but it doesn’t feel right. Monty and Harper were more her family than they were his – but still, they were always kind to him, always happy to help him and explain terms that were thrown around like they were nothing. They were a part of the family he’s never had, at least, not that he can remember explicitly, now they’re gone. They hugged him as tight and as long as they did everybody else, he’d miss them too, but maybe not as much as everybody else.

“I know.”

She nods, but there’s not much else to say about it. He knows Ravens pissed off about it, stomping around since thy got back on the ship muttering about how they _left them._ Murphy’s pretending not to care, but even so he can see something close to sadness in his eyes as they said goodbye. Miller had compensated by stealing – well, he doesn’t know exactly what he stole, but he knows Clarke’s Rum was amongst it.

Jasper took it the worse, he’s angry and moping, drinking the strongest Moonshine that was possibly ever made. He spits accusations at Clarke like it was her fault they left. It was an anger he didn’t quite understand.

“Tell me something.” She softly pleads, looking up to him with impossibly deep eyes he never wants to look away from. Somehow, he can’t deny her a single thing.

“I have a sister.” He tells her, though he’s not really sure where it came from, he was only just absorbing the dreams he’s been having. He’s still not sure what’s real and what is not. “In my dreams, I have a sister. I love her, so much I think it consumes me sometimes. But then, there’s also this crushing…I don’t know, loss maybe? Something happened to her, something I didn’t like, she wasn’t the person I thought she was.”

“Sometimes people don’t meet your expectations, it’s okay to be disappointed.”

It’s not disappointment he feels though, it’s the loss you feel when someone dies. His sister was not his sister anymore. She’d transformed into something he wanted no part of.

“I think I’d like to find her, maybe someday. But then, I don’t. I think I want some part of that old life more than I actually want her.”

Clarke smiles tightly at him in a way he can’t quite decipher, he doesn’t try to, either. Just lets them fall into a comfortable silence, both consumed by their thoughts. Finally, he gets the courage to ask a question that has been eating away at him since he first heard the words uttered at her.

“Why do they call you Wanheda?”

He regrets the question when Clarkes face contorts in pain and he takes a long drink from the bottle. He’s about to take it back when she starts talking.

“It was a tiny island up north. Raven and I had been sailing for probably about a year at that point, we’d picked up everybody else along the way. We saw a distress flair from this tiny island and docked there to see what was happening. They apologised and said they were just testing it and invited us onto the island for a couple of days to rest. The whole place seemed too good to be true. They never had to import or export goods, they had their own eco system there, it was amazing. The crew got kind of – caught up with it. I wanted to leave after a couple days, the whole place started to seem…off.

“I went exploring the one day, past where we’d been told we were allowed to go. I found a load of abandoned ships at the far side of the island, they were well hidden – if I hadn’t have strayed so far off the path I never would have found it. Then I found the underground lair. They were luring ships in and keeping them hostage to experiment on. I tried to get off the island peacefully, I swear I did but – ”

She cuts off with a shaky breath, tears run down her face and she sniffles delicately. He doesn’t know what to do, how to comfort her. By its own volition a hand snakes around her shoulders and squeezes reassuringly. She gives him a tight smile before continuing.

“I tried to leave, I got us all gathered together but they wouldn’t let us go. When we were no longer complacent and willing we were hostages. I wasn’t letting myself or my crew be trapped there to be used as human experiments, no way. So I killed them all. Poisoned their water system before they put us in cages and watched them die. I killed the girl Jasper fell in love and watched her die in his arms when she came to let us out before I let the hostages out of their own cages. It’s why he’s always so angry, I don’t know how to deal with it, I’ve tried apologising, I’ve given him space, I treated him different, gave his space to work out his anger until I couldn’t take it anymore. He won’t talk to me, or anyone else about it and sometimes I’m scared what he’ll do.”

“Clarke – ”

“I wish you had known him before. He was always happy, he was always the first one to say it was an adventure anytime we went somewhere different. He was never like this, I did that to him and I don’t know how to fix it.”

She finishes with a sob and his arm tightens around her, angling himself towards her so she can lean into him. The story should horrify him, he knew from what others had said that she had murdered, but genocide was a different to murder. Instead of horror, he feels pity and a great sadness for her, for all of them.

“You were backed into a corner, you saved innocent people’s lives.”

She looks up at him, eyes wide and sorrowful “I killed innocent people, too. That’s why they call me Wanheda, the commander of death.”

“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are very different things.”

Finally, a smile drawn from her lips as she asks, “What do you know of survival?”

It’s not an accusation, but a genuine question and he wonders, what does he know of survival? The man in his dreams slaughtered for fun and his sister was worshipped for the people she had killed. We’re those things for survival? He hopes so despite the uneasy feeling that they were not.

“I know I was found in a ruined boat after a storm, I did something to survive.”

“Yes.” She agrees softly “You did.”

There’s a shift, she’s not crying now, instead she’s looking at him like he’s a new person, maybe he is. He hopes he’s a different man to the one in his dreams, and if he’s not, change is coming with the tide.

A tension that he’s always ignored becomes tangible, there’s been a pull to her since he first laid eyes on her that become something more. She makes the first move, somehow he knew she would as she twists in his arms and leans until her lips meet his.

It’s gentle at first, a soft brush that sets alight a fire beneath his skin. Then he’s holding it onto her waist and pulling her closer, he can’t seem to get close enough though, not when she hikes up her cotton dress to straddle his lap, not when the kiss deepens and his tongue brushes with hers.

Her fingers twist in his hair and it drags a desperate moan from him. He’s never felt this before – this desperate want or the need to be close to somebody.

He never wants to let the feeling go.

When they both need air, their foreheads press together and they smile stupidly as they catch their breath. It’s a shift indeed, and one that’s for the better.

They take a walk the next day, they don’t mention what happens in the crow’s nest, but instead sneak glances and steal smiles in quiet moments. The rest of the crew join them later, when the new sails up and ready to go, Clarke promises they’ll leave at sundown, but the towns too pretty and the sights are new and exciting, it would be a shame to leave any earlier.

Except – there’s an undercurrent there he just can’t put his finger on. People stare at him outright, in anger, disgust and confusion. There’s no mention of Wanheda, no second glance to Clarke. Words said in a foreign tongue are spat at him, and wonders what the man he was before did to deserve this.

Then he thinks of the blood and chaos, the destruction he brings in his dreams and he doesn’t think about it again, just tells Clarke he’s going back to the ship and locks himself in his quarters until he hears them come back and Clarke tells Miller they’re heading off again.

Murphy shows the first sign of enthusiasm possibly ever. He has tiny jars with colourful powers that smell strong and enticing. He says he’s going to experiment with spices in his food, that he hates the taste of fish after living off it completely for god knows how long.

“You’re a bloody pirate.” Miller mutters under his breath “What did you expect?”

“I heard that.” Murphy growls, Clarke ushers him to the Galley without another word, Jasper just grins and offers them all some Moonshine.

Nobody mentions the cold reception he got, so he doesn’t mention it either, though he’s desperate to know, and silently observes his dreams becoming more and more vivid.

When a bowl is pushed to him on the deck, he sniffs it suspiciously and stirs, there’s a smell that is less than enticing now that the powders have been put into food. But with a shrug, they all take a spoonful together.

Jaspers the first one to spit it out and gag in disgust – and thank god he is, everybody else might have been too polite to do it first.

He’s never tasted anything quite like it, though he can’t remember tasting much apart from what Murphy’s cooked, he’s pretty sure he’d remember eating something like _that._

“I have never, in all my life been so grateful for Jaspers Moonshine.” Raven gasps, drinking deep from the cup then wincing.

“Now you all appreciate me” Jasper mutters in return, but he’s grinning in amusement none the less.

“What the hell did you put in this, Murphy?” Clarke demands with a splutter.

“ _You_ told me to experiment with the spices!” Murphy replies with a petulant pout.

“Not all of them at the same time! Gods it even tastes powdery.”

“I’m going on strike.” Murphy crosses his arms and leans back on his bench.

There’s a ripple of laughter that makes Murphy flush with embarrassment or anger, but its smoothed over quick enough, though he’ll be teased about it forever more, it’s a lesson learnt, and it unfurls the knot of anxiety in his chest a bit, to laugh and be distracted.

He doesn’t let himself sleep or be plagued by nightmares that night. He doesn’t find Clarke in crow’s nest.

Instead, he sneaks past Raven on lookout and past the door that leads to the captain’s quarters.

He’s not scared of ghosts.

Clarkes still in her dress from the day, her freshly braided as she sits at her desk in dim candlelight. A map and charcoal spread in front of her when she looks up in surprise.

“Oh.” She gasps, standing to greet him. “It’s you.”

Now would be the time to make his excuses for being here, to possibly lie and back out of what he’s about to do.

But he doesn’t want to talk himself out of what he’s about to do. So he grips her waist and pulls her in close, lips pressing to hers hard enough to bruise. He almost wants them to, so when he wakes up he knows this hasn’t all been a dream.

His hands roam to the ties on her corset, unlacing it expertly. What had Clarke called it when he’d been stitching?

Muscle memory.

Was undressing beautiful women something he was so used to?

Perhaps.

The days flit by, and slowly, he thinks, he’s coming back to him. Things that were muscle memory have real, palpable memories attached to them. He remembers a woman, dark haired and beautiful sitting at a rickety table sewing as he learnt to read from the Iliad. It was just the two of them back them, with no dark cloud hanging over them like in later years.

He remembers that well – the darkness that slowly consumes him as the years go by. It weighs him down and eats away at him soul until his morals are a distant memory and his conscious long forgotten.

He doesn’t want to be that man anymore. He looks around and the chaos and destruction that plague his dreams are a different lifetime. Somehow he’s found peace, and though he may not deserve it he’ll take it. He watches down from his time in the crow’s nest, the days are longer and hotter, Clarkes scrubbing the deck, despite it not being her job she does it without fanfare or complaints.

Jaspers been sent to his cabin after decorating the deck and Clarkes anchored down until he settles.

Nobody acknowledges that she’s thoughtful, if it were him, he would have told him he lives on a goddamn ship, to toughen up or stay on land.

But he’s not the captain, not here. So he leans back and watches Miller with his fishing pole, whistling and swinging his legs over the side of the ship like a child. There’s already a small pile of fish that Murphy has taken to the Galley to gut. His experiments with the spices have been more successful, some were not, but nothing as bad as that first night. With each town, comes a new spice, a new vegetable or a new recipe. Life becomes a little more exciting in its own little way.

He sees Clarke in a new light everyday, his days end and begin with her, but slowly he gets to know her. How she scrunches up her nose when she first wakes to how she laughs when a particularly big wave takes them by surprise.

Slowly, he tells her about himself. Theres whole truths and half truths, distant memories and strange, twisted visions that might be dreams but he tells her anyway, and never once has she judged him.

He hopes she never will.

Miller grunts and pulls back on his pole - pulling him harshly out of the thoughts of her - it bends and creaks and he thinks it might snap.

“A little help” Miller hollers to anyone who will listen. Clarke stands with a huff and wipes her hands on legs, then stands beside Miller and pulls with all her might. She’s red faced and sweaty when she shouts out to Murphy to get his ass out here and help.

Even with Murphy’s help, they’re fighting a losing battle against whatever’s on the other end of the pole. Raven joins them, and with all the commotion, Jasper comes up too, looking worse for wear and a little green, but he pulls and tugs too.

It’s five against whatever the hells down there, Murphy shouts “This better be a fucking Kraken.” But no one responds. Finally, with one last tug they’re flung backwards, and onto the deck squelches an ugly creature, pink with a bulbous head and long, slimy tentacles that claws at the fishing line to untangle itself.

“Don’t let it get away!” Shouts Murphy, but everyone takes a few steps back.

“I’m not touching that thing.” Miller spits in disgust. The creatures untangled itself now and slithers back towards the side of the ship. Murphy makes a dive for it in vain, its faster than him, and it slides itself over the deck with ease and disappears back into the ocean and far away from them.

“We could have eaten that.” Murphy fumed, wheeling around to glare at the rest of the crew. “That would have fed us for a week.”

“I’m not eating that thing.” Ravens lip curls in disgust as she watches where the creature disappeared to, as if it would come back to attack them.

“It’s octopus, it’s a _delicacy_ ”

“So are fish eyes, but we don’t eat them.” Clarke points out, Murphy gives her a defiant glare.

“Don’t you?”

“I’m going to be sick.” Jasper mutters, going a more sickly shade of green.

“Not on my deck, I’ve just scrubbed it.” Clarke snaps, Jasper gags and Clarke pushes his towards the side of the ship. “Over there for god’s sake, I’ve already got to clean Octopus slime I’m not cleaning up anymore of your mess.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re the worst captain in the seven seas?” Jasper gets out between gags.

“I’d have made a much worse housewife.”

There’s a moment of silence as everyone catches their breath. Broken by him throwing his head back and howling with laughter. He laughs like he knows he’s never laughed before. His stomach aches and his sides hurt, but god it feels good to laugh.

“You!” Clarke shouts up to him. “You could have helped!”

“What? And miss the show? No chance.”

“I’ll put you on night duty in the crow’s nest for a month.” She warns, but he just smirks.

“Oh no” he grins, “You won’t.”

There might have been a blush on her cheeks, but it was hard to tell from so far away.

Life becomes colourful somehow, the next time they dock there’s a deep anxiety he can’t shake, but it never happens again, nobody stares at him or hisses in a foreign tongue. So they dock more often, it becomes less about the destination and more about the journey there. Everybody’s lighter, they smile more and laugh louder, even Jasper, who had gotten used to basking in his darkness has opened up at the light the new towns bring.

But it’s on the open sea he feels most at home. It’s exhilarating, he feels it in his blood and heart that this is where he’s supposed to be, wind in his hair and sea salt clinging to his skin, stood behind Clarke at the wheel or pouring over a map and plotting new destinations.

He’s falling in love.

Not with the open sea, there’s a feeling that its always been his love, but with _her._ Most nights he falls into her bed, and he no longer wakes in fear of the dreams, because she’s there wrapped around him and it feels like home.

He indulges in stolen kisses below deck and takes pride in making her laugh.

She brings him the tea he likes because Murphy wont let him near the Galley. She knows he likes early mornings and sunsets so she wakes up with him to watch the changing colours through the window of her quarters.

“It doesn’t _feel_ haunted down here.” He tells her one night. She gives him a sad smile and he regrets it immediately.

“The ghosts aren’t down here, they’re in here.” She takes his hand and places it over her heart, beating wild under his palm. “It’s not them who scream, it’s me. But I don’t wake up screaming anymore.”

No, neither does he.

The further south they get, the hotter the weather gets. Mostly, they’re coping with it, but Raven doesn’t. She can’t wear thin cotton dresses like Clarke does, something needs to be under her leg brace so she walks around angry one day, snapping at anyone who comes too close or who dares question whatever she’s fixing.

He hides out in the crow’s nest, Clarke sticks to the wheel and everybody else makes themselves scarce.

So he’s surprised when he hears somebody climbing the rope ladder when the suns at its highest point. It’s not time for anybody to take over, and he can still see Clarke at the wheel.

“Ahoy” Murphy smirks as he takes a seat next to him on the burning floor.

“Murphy” he nods back. In a strange way, he likes Murphy. He’s rude and insolent, petty and angry but he’s also funny and quick witted.

“I had to get away from her.” Murphy nods down to the deck where Ravens fixing…something. Anything she can get her hands on, probably. “When she’s like this, man I just want to throw myself overboard.”

“It might be cooler in there.” He shrugs, Murphy gives him a wry grin, and they fall into a companionable silence. He doesn’t mind people being up here with him, sometimes when he’s bored he’ll join Miller in here, Miller never has much to say, but it’s nice to just _be._

“She’s like that because of me, you know.” Murphy says quietly, darkly. He turns to look at him in confusion.

“What, you pissed her off?”

“No.” Murphy snorts. “Well, sometimes. But I mean her leg. When we first met, it was just her, Clarke, Jasper and Monty. I thought, I can take that Ship easily, but they put up a damn good fight. I took a shot down at the deck, went straight through and hit Raven. Clarke fixed her up as much as possible but…yeah.”

He’s not quite sure what to do with the information, there’s a deep sadness and confusion, there’s more questions than answers but he’s not sure he wants to ask them.

“How did you – ” he starts, but buts off, not sure how to ask it.

“How did I end back here? They found me a few years later, worse for wear and made me work my way up from the bottom. I’ve been through hells you can only imagine, you don’t even want to hear some of those stories. I may not always like being here, and I don’t like working under the princess but it’s a hell of a lot safer here than most places I’ve been.”

“The princess?” He raises an eyebrow at him, he couldn’t possible mean Clarke, the woman who scrubs the decks and patches up wounds.

“What, she didn’t tell you?” Murphy gives him a challenging stare. “Before she and Raven stole the ship she was pretty high up the rankings, her family are nobles who moved here from Europe. They were stinking rich, all the pretty jewels and gold coins you could ever wish for.”

There’s something there, a strange sense of discomfort though he’s not sure why. Clarke doesn’t hold himself like he’d expect a princess to, but the thought that she came from money when he knows he came from nothing upsets him.

“I bet there’s a lot she didn’t tell you, despite you falling into bed with her every night.”

He blushes then, they weren’t exactly being subtle, but nobody had said anything, so he assumed they didn’t know. He didn’t expect it to be called out so crudely.

“I know about Mount Weather. I know about the boy she killed, Finn.”

“Yeah? Did she tell you about Lexa? Her last lover she had on the ship?” At his silence, Murphy grins. “No of course she didn’t. Nobody dares talk about her, she led us to Mount Weather then abandoned us before we could get there. The bounty was already on Clarkes head when she came back, and Clarke just…accepted her back like everything was alright. Almost caused a goddamn mutiny too, nobody liked her, or the person Clarke was around her. She got shot a few months after Mount Weather, they were aiming for Clarke but” he shrugs like it was the most trivial thing, not a person being murdered. “You don’t know her, not really. You’ve never seen what she’s capable of, I have, and you’ll like her a lot less when you see that side of her.”

He doesn’t say anything, he’s not sure what there is to say. Clarke never mentioned it, and maybe for good reasons too.

Eventually, Murphy goes back to the Galley and Jasper comes to take over from him as the suns beginning to set. He finds himself in Clarkes cabin after they’ve eaten and drank and everybody else has turned in for the night.

He decides not to ask her about Lexa. She didn’t tell him that part of the story and it is not his place to question or judge her. Someday, he may be the one who’s telling half a story, on that day he hopes that people reward him with the same mercy he’s granting her.

When he wakes the next day, it’s in a cold sweat and an empty bed, the all too familiar sound of swords clanging together sends shivers through him and sends him shooting out of bed and up to the deck.

He expects violence, blood and chaos, instead he’s met with laughter and shouting as Miller and Clarke spar across the deck, swords glinting in the morning sun as they move gracefully against each other. Miller works on force and speed, whereas Clarkes graceful and works on skill, expertly blocking each attack. It goes back and forth as the crew cheer them on, there’s something in the back of his mind that thinks this is so familiar, almost like déjà vu.

He keeps expecting blood, he has visions of the sword cutting through Clarke or slicing open Millers throat, but it never does, its playful and fun and oh so different to the thought of swords that are in his head.

Clarke finally gets the upper hand and Millers sword drops from him hand and bounces off the deck. She kicks him down and places the edge of her sword against his throat.

“Touché” she murmurs with a smirk. Miller grumbles and roles away from her, the crew groan and cheer at Clarkes victory.

“Come on Miller.” Murphy moans “I had good money on you beating her.”

“I’ll have you know betting against your captain is an act of treason.”

“Yeah _Murphy.”_ Jasper grins. “She’ll throw you overboard.”

He snorts, then realises he hadn’t announced his presence, so the crew whipping around to stare at him shouldn’t be such a shock.

“See.” Jasper continues, “No name agrees, we should throw Murphy overboard.”

Murphy glares, but then there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I know, why don’t we put him up against Clarke?”

There’s a snort and a mutter from the crew, but he just shrugs.

“Can’t hurt I suppose, learning how to fight.”

“I don’t think you need to learn.” Murphy mutters under his breath, but before he can ask what the hell that means, Murphy throws him a sword. Instinctively his hand reaches out to catch it by the handle, Murphy raises an eyebrow at his and jerks his head towards a smirking Clarke.

“Is no one going to give me a challenge today?” She sighs in mock disappointment, but her smile is gentle towards him as she raises her sword. “En garde” she murmurs softly.

“En garde.” He says back with a nod.

Clarke makes the first move, as usual. He expects it to be over in a second, but somehow, the sword feels like second nature, it moves as if it is a part of him, blocking attacks no matter how fast or precise they are from Clarke. The relaxed look slips from Clarkes face, instead she’s steely eyed in concentration or determination.

He stops blocking the attacks, and starts pushing her back with his sword in attack. He’s fast and strong, more skilled than Miller was against her. They’re more of a match for this, there’s more back and forth, Clarke isn’t leading now she’s sparring with someone on par with her own skills.

He could easily let himself get distracted by her, the V between her eyebrows and the way her tongue sticks out a little in concentration. He wants to tease her and make her laugh like he would every other time, but theres a competitiveness in her eyes that tell him not to.

The early morning heat is blistering, sweat beads on their foreheads and drips down his nose. They probably won’t last too long, so Bellamy takes a swing forward, quick and powerful and catches Clarke off guard, her sword falls and his is placed at her neck, blade caressing the delicate skin there.

One wrong move, and its over for real.

“Touché.” He murmurs, but it doesn’t feel right, especially when Clarkes staring at him with wide frightened eyes.

“Touché.” She finally agrees, and he brings his sword back to his side. “Muscle memory.” She says, whether it’s a question or a statement, he doesn’t know.

“Maybe I’m just a natural.”

“Maybe.”

There’s a silence from the crew that’s deafening, they’re looking at him through brand new eyes now, cautious and wary, but that’s how he feels about himself too.

He feels different, natural. No longer a ghost, he thinks _I’m almost me again._

They dock a few days later, and don’t talk about the sparring on the deck. Nobody looks at him different since, but he can feel change. Not just with them, but within him too. It’s a change he’s not sure he wants to come.

In a vibrant market town, nobody pays them much attention anymore, they blend in with the crowds of pirates that gather. Local children run feral, cling to their legs as they’re walking past, holding on as they hide from their friends in childish glee.

A young girl tugs on Clarkes skirt and crouches down to greet her.

“Bonita.” The girl says in delight, reaching to tug on Clarkes hair. Clarke laughs and bops her on the nose.

“Bonita.” She says back with a soft smile reserved for children.

 _Pretty,_ he thinks, they’re saying pretty. The girl points to a golden clip keeping Clarkes hair out of her face. Clarke grins and unclips it from her hair, pressing it to the child’s hand.

“Para ti.”

The girl grins in delight and runs off to show her friends. Clarke stands and smiles after her. His heart softens a little watching the exchange.

The smiles slips away from her face though, as she looks over to where a group are openly staring at her with contempt and curiosity. There’s a fear on her face he’s never seen before, not during the storm, not when he held a blade to her throat.

“Clarke.” Raven mutters, standing close to her. “Go, now.”

Clarke nods and takes off without another word, he watches after her until she’s lost in the crowd, where she’s going, he doesn’t know. He looks over to the men, deathly pale with scars around their eyes like the man she was talking to the first times they docked. He wonders what could possibly be going on, but everyone is going on like nothing had happened, so he follows their lead, instinctively knowing they were putting on an act so he does too.

They do not stay until dusk like they usually do, instead they stick together and get whatever supplies are needed and go back to the ship. There’s a bad feeling in his gut he can’t shake as they get back onto the ship, Clarkes nowhere to be seen and it panics him.

“She’s below deck.” Raven tells him softly, noticing the worry etched on his face. “She knows to keep out of sight.”

“What’s going on?” He demands, knowing that he couldn’t speak openly out there. He can here though.

“They’re Azgeda Warriors.” Murphy cuts in, barging past them. “There’s a pretty price for whoever brings their leader Clarke.”

“Why?” He frowns, from what Clarke had told him, everybody from the island was dead, who could possibly want her dead?

“Because Azgeda believe that when you kill somebody you gain their powers. Mount Weather had been luring in Pirates and killing them for years, including Azgeda warriors. Mouth Weather held a hell of a lot of power, they believe Clarke has that power, so whoever kills her gets Wanheda’s power. They’ll be indestructible.”

“She’s just one person though.” He frowns, it all seemed a little dramatic to him.

“I didn’t say they were clever.” Murphy mutters.

That night, he holds Clarke close until he falls asleep. The Anxiety is rolling off her in waves and there’s nothing he can do to soothe her. They got as much distance between them and land as they could before the wind died down and the ship would sail no more. He doubts she’ll sleep, but he feels better having her close.

He’s not sure when he falls to sleep, but he wakes to a cold, empty bed and voices that do not belong to the crew.

“She’s got to be here.” Says a voice from outside the door. “Everybody else on the ship is tied up on deck, this is the last place.”

The door creaks open slowly, he freezes, unsure what to do whether to attack or hide, but his options are limited here, he’s out numbered when a group of men much larger than him barge in, he dives for the sword, but he’s hit over the head and succumbs to an overwhelming darkness.

When he wakes, his head pounds and he wretches on a piece of material shoved in his mouth. Risking to his knees, his ankles and wrists are bound too tight, his fingertips tingle as the circulation is cut off.

Clarke is nowhere to be seen, and in the low moonlight, the men pacing the deck in front of the tied up crew are not happy.

“Where the hell is she?” One of them demands, he realises now they’re the men from the market, the faint scars around their eyes tell him so.

Next to him, Miller shakes his head, he doesn’t know, he’s trying to say.

“You.” One of them demand, staring straight at him. “You were in the captain’s quarters, where is she?” He shrugs and shakes his head, he can’t think of where she possibly could have gone. He can’t see if the jolly boat is still there, but she wouldn’t have abandoned them, she couldn’t have.

“If you don’t come out Wanheda.” One them shouts into the night “We’re going to start cutting off your crews head and use them to decorate your ship – or should I say our ship now.”

There’s no response, nothing to say Clarke is nearby, or can even hear what they’re saying. It makes them angry, the fire in their eyes no longer simmering, but burning with rage.

“Him.” The man who appears to be their leader says, pointing at him in disgust. “We’ll start with her lover.”

He doesn’t know where the man behind him comes from, but his hair is pulled and cold blade is pushed against his neck. “Say goodbye to your lover.”

The blade cuts into his neck, slow and agonising they’re going to make her pay for not coming out. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knows that this is it, he knows that this is some sort of karma for every bad thing he’s ever done, whether he remembers it or not, he knows he still did it.

Deaths Icy grasp grips to him and he knows now that the afterlife will not be kind to him, there will be no voyager taking him across the sea and no angel to cradle him. They’ll take his head and put it on a spike to decorate their ship and make Clarke look at it while they drag her to certain death. 

He hopes his angel does not come now. Whatever fate the afterlife brings he knows it’s well deserved. He looks defiant into his captors eyes and thinks _no, I will not show you fear. I’ll die with steel and fire in my heart like my life has determined and you will perish as much as me in the afterlife._ If the crime he dies for is loving, then he can’t think of a better reason to die. He wishes more than anything that he could fight, but his head won’t tell his limbs to move.

Still she comes - his angel, his saviour.

“Wait” calls her voice, and the blade eases from his neck. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed she came out, she’s about to be taken for sure.

There’s that ethereal glow around her again. She looks down to him sadly, he shakes his head at her, she can’t go with them, they’ll kill her and he can’t stand the thought, it will devastate him.

“I’ll go with you. Just leave them alone.” She’s not looking at him now, at any of them. He wants to scream, he wants to tell her to fight damn it, she’s not a quitter, she doesn’t give up that easily yet she’s willing to be lead to her death without so much as a blink of an eye.

“Wanheda.” Their leader smirks, sending his stomach plummeting. “You grace us with your presence.”

Clarke doesn’t respond, simply stares through him with steely determination and an awful coldness. This can’t be it. This can’t be the end, not for her - he won’t accept it. He tries to get her attention, staring so hard he thinks it might burn her.

“Don’t hurt them, Please.” She pleads, stepping closer to the leader. “I’ll come quietly, I promise just don’t hurt them.”

Their leader spends a long minute appraising her, weighing her up and wondering if she’ll betray him when his back is turned.

He must see something there, a compliance that makes him turn to the man stood behind him, still holding him by the hair so he has to watch Clarke being marched to her death.

She’s lightning fast, even he didn’t expect the dagger hiding up her sleeve. It plunges deep into the leader’s neck, bloody pouring in a glorious fountain on its exit. He falls to his knees, clutching the wound uselessly.

He winces as blood spirts over the crew as the light in the leader’s eyes slowly dies.

Clarke’s heavily outnumbered, but that don’t matter. The next man who comes for her has his throat slit with expert precision. The next – a blade to his gut. So it goes, everybody who gets close to her meets their bloody and violent end at the hand of Wanheda.

Covered in blood and sweat, in the darkness of midnight it crashes back to him.

Every single little detail of his life is brought back in the midst of the violence he’s so used to. Octavia as a baby, being handed to his still covered in blood and wailing as his mother slips out of consciousness. Raising her more than their mother ever did, teaching her to read, bandaging her wounds from adventures in the Virginia forests.

Their mother’s untimely death, leaving his empty handed with an angry Octavia who was quickly spiralling out of his grasp.

The prisoner ship that came to take her away after the stool vendors caught her stealing. It was a choice – have her hands cut off or be sent to the islands far away on a prisoner ship.

He shot the guards who tried to stop him going on the ship. Don’t they understand? He can’t let her go like this. His sister, his responsibility.

Then he shot the guards upon the ship and took it for himself. Revelling in the chaos he brought and ruling the seas. The men and women upon his ship were not just petty thieves, they were murderers, people with no morals that could not be controlled. So he didn’t try.

Octavia falls in love with one of them, then spirals when he’s killed by another band of pirates who’s ship they were trying to take.

He’s gone too far.

She leaves, and death follows her. She rules her ship under a dictatorship that she’s worshipped for and it’s all his fault. He should have been better, should have loved her better and took her to safety – instead he brought the destruction that lead to both of their demise.

She slits the throat of anybody who does not follow her rule and he turns his back on her. Heartbroken and angry he’s still got a crew with him. He’s respected and he’s earned it. The path he paves is one from anger and confusion. When he sees the British naval ship that has been policing the seas for too long he breaks.

It’s a bloodbath.

All of his men are dead, good men who fought a needless battle in his name. Everybody died in that battle. All except one, one man trying steal his jolly boat.

 _No fucking chance,_ he thinks grimly. If there’s going to be one man left standing, it’s going to be him.

And it is. The escapees neck cracks under his hands he’s thrown overboard.

He lowers he jolly boat, ungraceful and rushed but who gives a shit? He’s getting the hell away from here. He doesn’t know where to, but it doesn’t matter.

He didn’t anticipate the damage to his ship. He didn’t see whatever was falling coming, but it did come. Knocks him unconscious the second it makes contact with his head, the world unwelcomingly dark until he’s awoken by lightening cracking through the stormy seas and thunder rumbling angrily.

If this is how he meets his death then so be it, but he will die with the world knowing of Bellamy Blake, he dies with the knowledge his name will be used a ghost stories for years to come and now he can accept Death dragging him from his boat and into whatever afterlife is waiting for him.

But death did come for him. _She did._

Clarke, who’s standing panting saturated in blood from the men who planned her death. Blood drips rhythmically from the dagger, her eyes as cold as the blade she used for their downfall. Surrounded by bodies and fear from her crew she takes a final look at her corpses, one still gasping for breath and staring up at her, a plea for mercy in his eyes.

“I am death.” She tells him angrily. “I am the carnage you would bring to kill me. _You_ are a message for all of Azgeda to see, I am more powerful than you could anticipate, and I will not be killed at your hands.” With a flick her wrist, the dagger lands in his throat and he dies with a godawful gurgle.

There’s a moment where no one moves, Bellamy looks across to see the fear and disgust in the eyes of the crew that followed her.

 _She_ is Wanheda. She took down the mountain that plagued crews all over. She is the daughter of the duchess, married to an American by force and had him assassinated. Her name brings as much fear as his does, and oh what a pair they will make.

She’s covered in blood and surrounded by the lives shes taken. He is stupidly, uncontrollably in love with her.

She removes their gags and binds silently. Jaspers staring at her in disgust as he storms back to his chambers. Nobody says a word to her, just wander off slowly, the blood can be cleaned up in the morning.

“Clarke – ” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“Go get cleaned up and get some sleep. I’m so sorry.”

With that, she turns her back on him and he watches her disappear into her chambers. He goes back to his too, waits for his turn to clean up silently and tries to process everything that’s just happened.

No – not just happened, everything that happened since he picked a battle he couldn’t win with a British naval ship. Someday, he’ll try and make sense of it, of Clarkes kindness to a man she did not know or trust, but for now – mostly free from the blood that had dried thick and sticky on his skin he has to see her.

He doesn’t knock when he gets to her quarters, he’s only ever knocked once and he’s not going back to that.

She’s clean too, her hair loose and damp, still streaks of stubborn washed out red but she doesn’t look like the massacre she committed on the deck.

He should tell her, he should fall to his knees and purge his sins to her but right now, he needs her, he needs to be the man she thinks he is.

Not giving her a chance to talk, he won’t let her apologise again he pulls her in close and kisses her with everything he has, every ounce of passion and fire and doesn’t think about almost losing her. Her arms wrap around his neck, she seems so small and fragile like this, he knows it’s an illusion; she’s more powerful than all of Azgeda warriors combined but here in her chambers, wrapped in his arms she’s just a girl with unearned fate.

“I’m so sorry.” She gasps when they pull apart. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt, I never meant for this.”

“It’s okay” he soothes “It’s not your fault.”

“It is.” She insists with teary eyes that break his heart. “It’s me they want, it’s me they’d have killed you for. I won’t let them kill you.”

“I won’t them kill _you._ You’re too important to me, I couldn’t bear a life without you now. Promise me you’ll never go with them, no matter what happens promise me you won’t let them take you.”

“I won’t let them take me.” She promises quietly. He hopes she remembers that promise. If she decides she hates him in the morning and throws him overboard he hopes she remembers she promised to never give up.

He wakes when it’s still dark to war drums beating in his chest.

He is Bellamy Blake.

He rules the seas with fear and annihilation.

Now, he falls down to his knees for a woman he’ll worship until the end of his days if she’ll let him. He has seen more violence than he could ever wish, but he’s seen peace and family, a quiet togetherness that never existed on his Ship.

He takes the dagger from the side of the bed, the dagger that was used just hours ago to cause mass destruction. It’s pretty, intricately designed and crusted with jewels far better than anything he’s ever stolen. It’s funny, how something to delicate could cause damage like that. Her reputation precedes her.

He’s spinning the knife expertly, something he picked up while docked south some years ago. Fancy flips and turns, never once does he drop the blade. He’s not concentrating on anything else, not the sway of the ship and not the thought of having to tell Clarke in the morning he remembers.

Will she be disgusted, that she’s been sharing her bed with a man like him? She has killed too, but for the greater good, not for pleasure like him, not to induce fear. How does he broach the subject? He can’t very well introduce himself, or tell her that the violence of last night reminded him of the life he’d forgotten.

He’s stuck in his head, he doesn’t feel the eyes piercing his skin, so it makes him jump when a gentle voice startles him in the darkness.

“Hello Bellamy.”

His blood runs cold. She knows. Somehow, she always knows, she always makes the first move.

“You knew.” He blinks dumbly at where she’s lay on her side, watching him with careful eyes.

“I suspected.” She counteracts. “I didn’t _know_ until I saw you after – I could tell, the way you held yourself, the way you looked at me, hell even the way you kissed, it was different, confident. But even before that, call it pirates intuition, but I think from the first time I saw you I knew it was you.”

He’s lost for words, possibly for the first time he’s lost for words. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

For what indeed. He never lied to her, except for last night but she needed him more than she needed to hear about his sudden epiphany.

“Bellamy.” She sighs, pulling the sheets around her as she sits up. “I’m not mad.”

“You should be.”

It pulls a smile from her, he doesn’t think it’s a smiling matter but she never quite met his expectations. “For what?”

“For who I am. You let me onto your ship and into your bed and I’m a murderer, I’m a bad person, Clarke. You should be sending me away.”

“Nobody’s being sent away” she assures him. “You get the same chance as everybody else. You mess up and you’re gone, but until you give me a reason to throw you overboard, I’d quite like you to stay.”

There’s a tense silence, he doesn’t know what to say it, how to respond to her when she’s giving him a chance he doesn’t deserve.

“Of course you’re not under obligation to stay, you can leave whenever, I’m not holding you hostage.”

Bellamy winces, she mistook his silence for indecision. “I’m not going anywhere you’re not going, unless you send me away I’m staying right here. I don’t know why I deserve that, but if you’ll have me, I’d like to stay.”

The grin he gets in return makes the rest of world melt away. She leans forward quick to press her lips to his. “I’ll always have you.”

When he falls asleep curled around her, the world is put to right again.

\- - - - - - 

She can’t sleep.

It should be expected, really. After everything that happened, her nightmares will be plagues with Azgeda warriors bleeding out on her deck.

The deck that she’ll have to clean when the sun rears its head.

In bed, she’s restless. Bellamy is sound asleep beside her. Her gut feelings are yet to let her down.

She’d pieced it together long ago, but in the dull light and the gleam of her dagger spinning in his hands, she just knew. She knew before that, when he’d kissed her and made her promise to never leave, she knew long before then.

But really, it was the look in his eyes on the deck, still bound and gagged, he didn’t look at her in horror and fear like the rest of her crew, it was admiration and pride she saw, that’s when she knew.

Silently stepping out of bed, she pulls a robe around her shoulders and pads out to the deck, sticky with drying blood, it was going to be a bitch to get out, but that was a problem for when the sun comes up.

Jasper’s leaning on the edge, bottle in his hands and a haunted look in his eyes. She stands next to him, expects him to shun her but he doesn’t say a word.

“I’m sorry.” She feels like she’ll be apologising for this for a long time to come, she’ll apologise for them having to go through that, but she will not apologise for the lives she took.

Jasper doesn’t respond right away, just stares into the endless ocean.

“I don’t know how you do it.” He finally says with a shaky voice. “I don’t know how you can just kill like that and not even seen fazed.”

“I am fazed.” She assures him gently. “I don’t enjoy killing, despite popular opinion I don’t want to take lives, but do you really think they would have let you go? Azgeda wouldn’t leave you alive whether I went willingly or not.”

“If you thought they would – leave us alive and unharmed would you have gone with them willingly?”

“Of course.” Clarke nods, does nobody understand this? She’d do anything to protect the ones she loves. If she thought for one moment that Azgeda would have just taken her and left her crew alone she wouldn’t think twice. But them about to cut off Bellamy’s head just to get to her was proof that they wouldn’t have left a single person on this ship alive.

Jasper scoffs “Of course. Clarke Griffin, the great martyr of the sea.”

She doesn’t respond. If that’s she is seen then so be it, but they’re all alive because of her. Nobody acknowledges the people she’s loved and lost, but that was alright, because they were always with her.

“I’m sorry.” She says again as the sky begins to lighten. It’s a new day. “Not just about last night, but everything. Mount Weather, Maya, about having to watch our back everywhere we go, I’m just - I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t think he’ll accept the apology, he never has before. She’s always been okay with that, because he’s alive. Maybe not like he used to be, but he’s still breathing, and not used a human experiment.

“I couldn’t do what you did, back there, in Mount Weather, any of it. I couldn’t have carried on like you did after you lost Lexa. You’re the strongest of all of us.”

“I’m not strong.” She smiles sadly over to him, but he doesn’t look at her, just watches the sun slowly greet the day. “Stubborn as hell, maybe.”

“No, you’re strong. I crumbled after Mount Weather, all of it, losing Maya, seeing all of those people die, they were happy before we got there, they’d have been happy long after us, too.”

What cost was their happiness at? Killing innocent people in god knows whose name. How could a good person ever be truly happy knowing the torture going on below the façade of peaceful island?

“You carried on though. You’re still here. There was no after we’d left, Jasper. They were going to kill us and use our blood for medicine, and many, many more after us.”

“It wasn’t our place to stop it.” The anger in his is rising again, flushes up in his neck in red blotches and forms itself as an attack.

“So you were happy dying there then?”

He doesn’t respond, of course he doesn’t. Nobody was happy dying there, nobody was happy taking lives to escape but they were backed into a corner, there was nothing to done.

“Sometimes – ” he takes a deep breath, then another. _Still breathing._ Tears glisten in his eyes before he continues. “There’s this darkness that comes over me and I don’t know how to control it. It’s so consuming it takes my breath and sometimes, sometimes I wish it would. I wish it would just suck the life out of me and I wouldn’t have to feel it anymore. Last night, seeing you kill those men, I’ve never felt a blackness like it before. I just want it to be over now.”

“Oh Jasper.” She sighs, stepping closer to warp her arms around his shoulders. He’s hesitant, but for the first time since she can remember, he returns the hug, tight and fierce, somehow it feels like an ending. “I’m sorry I did that to you.”

A pause, then – “I’m sorry you were made to do those things.”

It was the first time anybody had said outright that she had been made to do it, she never expected it – especially not from Jasper.

“I think your time on the ship might be over.” She tells him gently as she pulls back. They’re both crying now, the overwhelming emotions from the past few hours are taking their toll.

He nods in acceptance. There’s too much violence here, too much death for someone who was once so happy and bright, she dulled him down to a murky grey. It’s not him anymore.

“I think you might be right.” He agrees. “A fresh start. Somewhere new.”

“A fresh start.” She smiles, then it reminds her – “Oh!” She grins “You like to be first in with the gossip.”

He smiles, almost like the old him. “Always.”

“Guess who is currently fast asleep in the captain’s quarters.”

Jasper snorts playfully. “If you think you sleeping with no name is gossip, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Not no name.” She rolls her eyes “Bellamy Blake.”

Jaspers eyes widen comically, mouth agape as he stares in shock. “What, when did he, when did you - ?”

“Apparently when I was slitting Azgeda warriors’ throats.”

“Oh. Yeah that’ll do it I suppose.” He nods.

“That’ll do it” she agrees with a smile. Then the mood turns sombre again. She’ll give it a day for everybody to calm down, then they’ll dock into the next port they find and Jasper will start over.

Hopefully he has a good life, without the pain and misery she’s caused he hopes he can once again find happiness and become the person he was before.

She sends him back to bed, lets him sleep in and calm down. She’s awake though, and wont sleep until she’s sure everybody’s alright so she grabs a bucket and a brush and starts scrubbing. The bodies long gone, thrown overboard and left to the fishes and the damn Octopus Murphy wanted to eat.

The waters getting a deeper red every time she dips her brush in and she thinks of what could have been. What would they have done if they’d have found her asleep in the captain quarters? Killed Bellamy for sure, killed the rest of her crew and made her watch. They were sadistic like that.

She’ll forever have the vision of the dagger at Bellamy’s throat, just a breath away from it being his blood decorating her deck.

Ravens too.

And Murphy’s -

And Milers –

And Jaspers –

“Hey! Clarke stop.” She looks up in surprise, tears rolling down her cheeks and a sob rising in her throat. Bellamy’s front of her then, on his knees and hands cradling her face. “You’re alright.” He assures her softly as he hands move from her face wrap his arms around her and hold her close. It’s what she needed now, more than anything.

“They were going to kill you.” She sobs into his neck. “They were going to kill all of you.”

“They didn’t though.” He murmurs into her hair with a kiss. “You saved us.”

“I don’t want to live like this anymore. I don’t want any more death on my hands. I don’t want to look over my shoulder all the time and wonder who’s waiting to kill me.”

“I know.” He whispers, arms tightening around her and placing his cheek on her head. “We’ll go far away, the western isles. They say it’s hot there when everywhere else is cold. I don’t like the cold.”

It pulls a watery laugh from her, then she just lets herself be for a moment, wrapped in his arms she feels a comfort like never before. She trusts him more than she thought she would, with his bad reputation and omens. But he’s not like that. Even before he remembered his name he slowly came through, bit by bit the pieces were sticking together like a jigsaw, and now he’s back, the puzzles complete and there’s a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

They’ll talk it through, all the bad things they’ve done and why, and past mistakes will be forgiven and they’ll turn over a leaf together.

Two days later, they dock in a sunny town that’s teeming life and Jasper hugs them tight and smiles like she’s never seen before, she thinks to herself that this is his home now. He doesn’t need to be drowning in sorrows any longer. The world was cruel to a tender heart like his, it had beaten him down but still he smiles as he leaves with a pocket full of coins and some of Clarkes finest jewellery.

She makes the same promise to her crew as she did when they found him washed up in a crumbling jolly boat – they give him a chance, and if he turns out to be as bad as his reputation, they throw him overboard.

But its half hearted, because if he’s going overboard she’s going with him.

They’ve talked it out, no half truths and no sugarcoats, it was raw and painful and heartbreaking.

It was a necessary evil and she hoped after they come out stronger.

They did. So much stronger and seeing each other in a new light, for better or for worse they knew each other now, so much more than she’s ever known another soul, they’re intertwined with gold and understanding.

They paint over _Our Lady of Sorrows_ , no longer needed and Raven says they’re new people now, no black cloud hanging over them and dragging them down.

Bellamy tells her of The Argo, the shipped manned by Jason and the Argonauts, built by Argus. Athena watched over and guided it.

“That’s you.” He grins while she’s lay in his lap. “The goddess of wisdom and strategy, watching over your war ship.”

She snorts and blushes and doesn’t respond, but she paints _The Argo_ on the side when they’re docked one day, long after they’ve left Jasper, and faraway enough that they probably won’t see him.

She hopes he’s fine. That he found peace again.

She hopes Monty and Harper are happy and free living on land, no longer travelling around, she hopes they’ve made a home and filled it with joy and laughter.

She tugs Bellamy around the market, laughing as he pretends to drag his feet. She’s lighter than she’s felt in a long time, actually – she doesn’t remember ever feeling this light and free. Not confined to being a noble’s daughter, prim and proper and expected to meet expectations so far from her grasp it hurt. No longer drowning in her sorrows of a lover she murdered or the bearing the weight of being the commander of death.

She’s a better person with him, the ships a better place now, even the crew seem happier, but she knows soon they’ll spread their wings and leave her too.

She hears the hum before she notices her presence. But there she is, sat up a corner with her cards and spirits.

“You get around.” Clarke gives her a tight smile and pulls Bellamy over.

“I could say the same about you.” Gaia replies as she shuffles her cards. She lays them face down on the table with and wry smile.

“I am a pirate.” She points out with a flick of her eyebrow.

“That you are.” Gaia agrees. “Pick a card.”

“Oh no” Clarke shook her head “I don’t do that anymore, I’m writing my own future.”

“Pick a card.”

“Fine, but I’m not paying you.” Clarke grumbles as she plucks a card from the deck. She doesn’t look at it as she places it down.

“Oh.” Gaia smiles in surprise. “The Lovers.”

Clarke blinks, and hopes to whatever gods listening there’s no double meaning or threat in this. Bellamy’s arms wind around her waist.

“Pray tell, what does that mean?” Clarke sighs.

“For you – it’s a perfect union, harmony, love and attraction. It represents finding the balance within oneself. You’re learning to understand yourself, your own personal moral code and what you value in life. It’s the soulmate card.”

“Gaia, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“It wasn’t me, it was the card.

“Still” Clarke grins, Gaia rolls her eyes at her, but its fond.

“You deserve some happiness.” Gaia tells her softly.

“Yes, you do.” Bellamy agrees from behind her with a kiss on her cheek.

When Clarkes is in the crow’s nest, anchored down so Miller can fish. She sits for the first time and just breathes. Murphy and Raven are squabbling over something petty. Later, they’ll fall into bed with each other and pretend it didn’t happen the next day.

Bellamy sneaks up beside her with a bottle, bought for the first time instead of stolen and watches the sunset with her.

It’s bright and spectacular, the ever changing colours that merge together fills her with wonder. The sky finally settles on a deep red glow that soothes her weary soul.

Red sky at night, Sailors delight.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my amazing Betas FourOhFour_Error for all your patience with me constantly pestering you, and ProfoundlyInLove for all your patience and for being the best cheerleader!
> 
> I am accepting prompts on Tumblr (Excuseyouclarke) For the Bellarkefic-for-blm, no donation is too small, theres also an amazing group of writers taking part, please please check them out!


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